Devils Like Us
by Angel Wolf
Summary: An AU fic: It's been six years since the defeat of Alpha 152. The Mugen Tenshin/DOATEC relationship has become non-existent, Rig and MIST are still at large in spite of Donovan having died of lung cancer, and to boot, a certain devil has become drawn in to this web. (Virtua Fighter characters appear based inclusion DOA 5 LR). ON HIATUS & UNDER CONSTRUCTION: Chaps 1-12 now revised.
1. The More I See

**[New Notes in the Manifest]**

* * *

Okay, so this was my first fan fiction story. It's riddled with errors.  
 ** _THIS IS NOT THE REBOOT CONTINUITY_. ** Are we clear? Good.

I will also be using a Dante based on my own thoughts, so expect someone different to the original, but less offensive than the reboot.  
There'll be nods to the classic series, but don't expect it to be worshipping of it. Think of it as a lot of video game characters coated in Neo-noir tendencies.  
I'm restless, creatively speaking, so there are dalliances with other genres as well. I like to put a realistic lens on something known to be a little more over-the-top.

So basically, this won't follow much of the established canon. This is it's own thing.

For clarifications sake, that means this is a fresh start for DMC. My rules, different things go.  
 _ **Don't take anything from pre-established continuity going into this, because it won't mesh**.  
_ DOA doesn't get a reboot, so that'll all be as you know it, give or take a few minor things, i guess.  
Gaiden is a bit tricky, greater thematic elements of that series will become apparent later.

* * *

 **Theme Song: Metallica's** rendition of **The More I See**

* * *

I'm revisiting this old question someone asked me about what this series intro song would be if it were an anime.  
I feel now that this song best fits this series _ **.**_ Why? Because holy shit does it have the right attitude.

That's it.

* * *

 **-DOATEC HQ- A hot day**

* * *

It was hard to believe, but it'd been almost six entire years since the time when the last DOA tournament was held.

A mysterious man named Rig, whom possessed inhuman strength, had turned out to actually be the son of Victor Donovan, the ousted CEO of DOATEC, and the founder of MIST, a terrorist organization.  
The group contracted many, many enemies of it's root-company, while maintaining a high degree of activity. Eventually, they'd gained in power, using vast swaths of clones to create chaos.  
Eventually, they found themselves a nice little island to settle on. All their bureaucratic power was consolidated into a micro-nation. It was a bit of a joke, at first. . .

Meanwhile, stateside, Jann Lee actually became the winner of this fifth tournament. Bit of a letdown, considering he beat the favorite, Bass Armstrong, and Karate expert Hitomi.

The ratings were so disappointing it wasn't even funny. Advertisers cut their funding and left DOATEC without any aid.

Nothing but depression in an email.

Helena herself had nearly died on a DOATEC plant to the hands of assassin Christie, her absurd mortal nemesis. Why does anyone need a mortal nemesis anyway?  
Yet, while she was mulling all this over in her head, thinking about all those people, and how unfortunate the last few years had turned out, she realized something.

". . . Those days are repeating themselves." Things were bad, but in a sense, they'd always been this way.

Sitting in her office, she was tired from a long day of work. Years of political and business skullduggery just drained her energy. How she stayed in shape was beyond her.  
The woman draped over her leather chair, positioned behind her dark oak desk. It was some fancy, ornate thing. Whatever, it made the room look cool.

The blinds were drawn shut and the lights turned off. It was the end of a weeklong heatwave.

A few simmering rays of sunlight peaked through from between the shades.

The woman felt a headache coming on, so she doused herself in cool darkness.

Helena pressed a button on the intercom at her desk and spoke into it.

"Bayman, I need to speak with you."

The burly Russian entered the room with a powerful presence.  
His temples were graying and his voice was smoother, deeper than in his youth.

He briefly touched his face as he recalled for a fleeting moment the pain of receiving his scar.  
The man could still remember what it was like that day.

The defacement cut into him diagonally.

Running his thumb across the mark, he started above on his forehead, then trekked down through an eyebrow, across his nasal bridge, and ended on his cheek.

It ran deep for him. Strangely, he never forgot what it was like.

But he quickly moved his hand away to his side, presenting himself as the model security soldier.

"What do you require, miss?" Bayman always spoke gentlemanly towards her, showing that he had come to have great respect.  
Since the last tournament in particular, he had become a part of Helena's staff due to his knowledge of Donovan. He'd done work as a former 'short-term freelancer.'

He also found working with the new company gratifying. . . Despite having once been paid to kill the woman he now worked for, but those days were gone.  
A bit tired, he was curious as to what she was going to ask him, considering that it was never in-character for her to call on him to chat. She kept to herself, he respected that.

"Is there something bothering you?"

Helena responded, "Bothering me? What gave you that impression?"

"Uh, ma'am, you never request company unless it's to send me out on a mission. You're _not_ sending me out on a mission are you? Because that just occurred to me."

He actually was feeling rather coy and, though he had respect for her, Bayman believed he might be able to soften her mood.  
She chuckled a bit. It was a kind of cynical, light thing. She found it genuinely funny, and he didn't quite know how to take that.

He'd never heard her like that.

"Actually, I do not have a mission for you today, well, not a normal one anyway."

"Okay. What is it?" He asked.

"DOATEC has been facing financial problems in recent years, due to the 'cloning controversy,' one of Victor's leftovers.  
I've been able to cull the losses and rebuild by branching out. I've also spent time purging the company of corrupt assets, but we're still continuing to lose money every year.  
I've lobbied for multiple governments to consider giving a bail-out to help recuperate, but after the recent threats of another Alpha, all answers have been a resounding no."

Bayman heard her out, wondering why she'd bring up business with him.

For the most part, she seemed to just be reviewing the past, flipping over failures mostly.

"At one time, we may have been able to offer our services in handling Alpha attacks, but with our connections to the Mugen Tenshin Clan now so strained, we couldn't afford it.  
I called you in to ask what we should do." She'd lost faith in her own ability.

"Pardon?" He stood slack-jawed.

"We no longer can sit aside and let the current state of affairs continue on. Donovan's dead, yet his operations have been taken over and strengthened, and DOATEC is no longer the powerhouse company we once were. Christie remains intent to tear my throat out, it's only a matter of time. I'm doing what I can, but with so much isolation, I feel I can't perform as CEO." Her beautiful face was saddened by meek misery.

"If things continue like this, the company might implode again. Then there won't be anything effective to stand up to MIST. What do we do?" Helena was serious.

She remained stoic, as always. What a paradox, she just readily confessed to her subordinate that she didn't know how to deal with her responsibilities.

Bayman gave her a good, hard stare, and realized that she was exhausted. No. . . Deeper than that. Wounded. She'd been wounded from a long six years of constant work and frustration.

"Ma'am, perhaps you should rest. I'm not sure how to answer your question."

She thought it over.

"I'm not that tired. But I am done with simply going on and on uphill while they keep throwing rocks at me.  
It has become a sadistic game at this point. But, I've run out of plans and backdoors I can escape through. So I'll ask you again. What should be done?"

"Hmm. . ." That was his 'thinking noise,' "I might have an idea."

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- In the sprawling crime-ridden-Chicago-Vegas-LA-like area known as Edgemere City.**

* * *

A white-haired man walked into a poorly lit, gothic office study with his feet propped up on black desk. The walls were lined with paintings and an old bookcase.  
On other portions were the bare walls, bleak and barely renovated. Each partition was painted dark, while one was composed of simple brown bricks.  
It sat next to the glass entrance that overlooked a luscious courtyard. It was the only life growing in this twisted city. The panels all possessed barely visible stains on them, indeterminate in color.

The front garden was unkept and slightly overgrown. The owner was pretty lazy, after all.  
In the center was a little stone fountain that sprung it's fresh waters into the surrounding pool.

It never grew stagnant, always flowing like it were Spring.

To the left of his workstation was a comfy, old-style bar. It was stocked with various liquors; gin, whiskey, cheap wine and other stuff like that.  
Despite the fact it wasn't worth drinking all that, he kept it for guests. Maybe they'd get a buzz. He couldn't, but it looked nice.

One of the many jobs he had in the past was as a bartender.

He was always a quick learner. A few short classes later and he was golden.

But for the most part, the cabinet was devoid of any other goods.

A lone exception was the mini freezer/refrigerator, where the man stored some vanilla ice cream and fresh strawberries.

He was wearing a black and blood red long coat that came down slightly below his knees.  
The crimson coloring on his lapels also extended onto his shoulders and formed a thick stripe that ran down the outside of both arms.  
At the end of the sleeves was an inch-and-a-half-long cuff of identical pigment that met and conjoined with the beam design.

All other portions of the coat were a stark stygian shade. Beneath, he wore a maroon button-up dress shirt fastened only halfway.  
And beneath this, he had a gray long sleeve tee-shirt, along with faded brown cargo pants, a black pleather belt, fingerless gloves and dark combat boots that came up to the shin.

He liked to keep things stylish, and he _did_ look good.

His hair was styled mid length, and his face was a pleasant mixture of attractive male features. He strolled to his desk, and sat in his comfy chair.

"Huh, this is nice. No jobs for the weekend. I can just kick back and relax." He said.

He grabbed a magazine of questionable content and began casually flipping through.

After five minutes of this. . .

The phone rang. It was someone familiar. He banged his left hand on the table's edge, and the handset flew off the receiver.  
He caught it with his right hand as he put the magazine flat on it's back. He spoke uninterested into the phone, knowing who it would likely be.

"Yo."

"Dante, I'm sending someone in for you. She's a. . . She's different. Good luck."

"Thanks Morrison. I'll be waiting." He almost groaned as he threw the phone off to the side, like he didn't care.

Somehow, it landed right back on the receiver, like he'd aimed for it.  
Well, now it was just time to wait. Ever since he'd taken up normal private-eye-type work, his business had become healthy.

He liked the way cash rolled in, it was a different kind of work he enjoyed.  
He fiddled about with the floppy book some more, waiting on end for about twenty minutes.  
The woman hadn't arrived yet. Odd.

"Haah, okay. That's starting to get boring." He groaned, closing the catalogue and tossing it on the desk.

"Pfft. . . Ppppppppl. . ." He began making sounds with his mouth, rolling his lip as he stared at the ceiling for another twenty minutes.

He kept trying to make sounds but he soon tired of this as well.  
The man stared at his non-existent watch, then glared at the clock on the wall.  
Forty-five minutes. Okay. . . This is getting annoying. He hated waiting so much.

Who was this person anyway? He'd find out soon enough he supposed.

A half hour went by. He'd fallen asleep, but when he came to, the woman had still not arrived.  
The smells hadn't changed, nothing was disturbed. God damn it.

"Oh my god, are you kiddin' me?" He muttered aloud.

When Morrison calls, the client arrives within twenty-five minutes. So what the hell was taking so long? God damn, she better be here soon.  
His wish was instantly granted when an exceptionally beautiful, platinum-haired woman wearing a black dress walked through his front door.

The bells clanged about playfully, and with a British accent she said, "There's no need to look so dreary, sweetheart."

"No one's looking dreary ma'am, just my immense apathy boiling over. Speaking of which, what can I do for you?" He smirked to himself.

At least the wait was worth it.

"I'm looking for a real man, someone who can help me. You don't know where I could find one, do you?" Her retort gave him temporary pause.

A 'real man?' Maybe brits are just behind the times.  
Nevertheless, he did his best to accommodate.

"Look no further babe, whaddya need?" He leaned back in hi chair, both amused and bemused.

Dante was secretly curious as to why someone with her looks would bother with this part of town.

It wasn't a very good area to begin with. He lived in an urbanized environment, where proud thugs and gangsters ran amuck.  
Not to mention the complete corruption in the police department, many an unsolved murder case fluttered his way. Such is life.

This crime would stop eventually, he'd see to that.

"Good boy, I knew you looked up to the task. I heard through the grapevine that you're a pretty good hit-man. You can make bad people. . . 'Undesirables,' disappear. Is that true?"  
She mentioned it lovingly.

Ironic that she's all playing the seduction card, yet casually mentioning murder.  
Still, he kind of liked her allure. There was something about her. . . Er, teeth.

She had very lovely teeth, yeah.

"I do hits from time to time. It depends. Who do you got suckin' up useful air?" He leaned forward. Murder was a strange game he rarely played.

It was beyond seldom when he killed a human. It was only if someone was totally irredeemable did it seem logical to him.

Even then, he tried hard to reserve judgment. The attractive visitor knew she had him hooked though. His eyes wandered.

"I want you to take care of this rather unpleasant duffer who used to be my husband."

"What'd this guy do to you, and frankly, why? Good lord, why?" He semi-seriously cracked wise. Meanwhile, he not-so-subtly flirted with her.

She chuckled, "Your sweet."

His office was rather gloomy, though it appealed to her. It was odd, looking gothic like something back in England.

Advancing towards him, she naturally sat on the desk next to his legs. Of course, go for the easy route.  
She leaned in, knowing that this way, he could see her generous cleavage. Size double d. Spectacular.

Despite the physical facets, her perfume caught his attention rather quickly.

It reminded him of a time before.

Numerous pleasant memories flooded his mind in an instant. Some weren't for rebroadcast.

"I caught the bastard cheating with a French hussy. . . I want you to put a bullet right between their eyes. You'll do it, won't you?" She pleaded.

The man thunk hard on the request. Something was a little off. He couldn't place it but. . .

"Well, what are one hooker and a jag-off to me? Lady, you got a deal."

'Let's see where this goes.' He quickly though to himself.

She gave a smirk of her own, "I knew I could count on you! You're such a selfless man. But, of the cost-"

Now he knew she was just strokin' him.

"Ah, right. How much you got to burn?" He returned to focus, caught up in her subtle ways.

Actually, he quite enjoyed looking at that face of hers, so much so that the strangeness of the encounter made him completely forget about payment.

"Well, I-I don't have much. _He_ spent most of what I had." She struck a sad, pensive look downwards and out of sight.

God, it was like syrup on a pancake, he was just eating it up.

While he checked her out, he said, "Uh, I'm sure we could work something out. Are you lonely at night?"

He was kinda joking, he felt the situation a little too cliche.

"Very." She said as she peered back up at him.

Jesus Christ, she had a lustful eye.

Roll with it.

"I think it'll be just fine." At this, Dante gave a charismatic smile.

She rubbed her palm slowly on his inner thigh.  
Since she was so inviting, the man caressed one of her dangling, full-figured legs. Christie's calves were well defined and her skin was uncommonly smooth.  
The woman leaned further in, deciding to seal the deal. She planted a soft kiss, setting his lips on fire. Sometimes, that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Right now, he was a violin and she knew how to play every string.

After a moment, she smiled and her breath fluttered as the bombshell licked the inside of his lips, pressing her labellum on his.  
He was semi-surprised by the vulgar use of tongue. She explored every space, mating muscles together.  
In truth, it didn't really phase him. He almost preferred it. Many women he'd barely known occasionally did much the same.

But, that was then, and this was now.

Before their faces parted, she playfully bit his lower lip.

The man's hand moved further up into her dress, near her bottom.

Her chest beat faster.

She must have really liked that.

"What's your name?" It was a bit ridiculous that he didn't know by now.

"Christie. Yours?"

"Dante." The man spoke it clearly.

Though willing to go out of his way for a pretty girl, he had no intention of killing anyone. Well, not until he made sure, at the very least.  
Some dirtbags just deserved it. Who would do anything nasty to a girl like this anyway? Something wasn't adding up here, the more he thought about it.  
Then again, when she looked the way she did, you really couldn't waste time thinking.

This was a bit different than his ordinary work.

Usually, his jobs consisted of helping track down missing persons, beating up jerky boyfriends or finding out whether or not someone was cheating on another.

Okay, so it wasn't _that_ far off from his usual line of work, but she wanted him to jump straight to murder; no further backstory, just flirting, request, then done.

Atypical.

The sympathetic ones usually want to avoid death. They'd ask him for down-to-earth things, like a broken jaw or a repoed car.  
Usually, loss was enough for them, unless they really had it in for their former associate. Hell, maybe she did.

The only times it got more interesting than this was when the cases took on paranormal aspects, such as dealing with paranoia, abandoned buildings, urban legends, ghosts or even Cryptid hunts.

A few cases of MIB's even came through occasionally. He took them mostly for shits and giggles.

Other work occasionally included solving crimes police had botched, or wouldn't touch for other, odd reasons.

His business, however, once carried a significantly darker lining to it.  
Ever since one event a few years back, the work pool changed for the better, with these. . . 'More violent' cases becoming virtually nonexistent, eventually ceasing altogether.  
That being said, he's always felt some kind of stain remained. Maybe there were some still hiding, lord knows he'd had to deal with possession sometimes.

"What are the names, if you don't mind me asking? That's kind of a crucial step to this whole hit-man thing."

Christie smiled almost sadistically when she said, "Bayman and Helena Douglas."

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

Reviews are appreciated. Thank you.

Oh, also check out the stories i've beta read for! You can find them on my profile page, so just click away, they're really good!


	2. Hand Of Reason

Author's Note: Hey there, so this chapter represents a minor experimentation with Gothic Fiction.  
That's something that'll happen more frequently in the future, I'll start blending together other genres with the noir basis I started with.

Anyway, here it is.

* * *

 **-New York City, some years ago, hidden from plain sight stands an altar-**

* * *

A darkened place. It was no good to mortals, they were incapable of perceiving such fantastic misery.

But it's current visitor was no mere human.

The figure stood unarmed. They understood this cursed place better than any lowly rat or creature of old. _This_ was the lifeblood of sin.  
Such as it's nature was, it couldn't be reached by any man, it laid beyond the physical world.

But this person knew how to breach such barriers. It only took a bit of concentration, a shifting of the tongue, and they could access this sealed bit of hallowed doom.

The incantation was ancient, it wouldn't work with just speaking it aloud. The user must be tainted, empowered somehow.  
Nevertheless, the altar was a peculiar piece of architecture, a good mix of Cymric and Roman urbanity.  
The altar bled into a similar archway that continued on until it met a small nested area outlined by trees. The grass was soft and pristine, letting off a small amount of cold moisture.

At the tree's roots were dark plants that grew entangled through their larger cousins. They were unnatural, vicious and angular.

They shouldn't be able to grow here. Yet they are.

As the figure walked through the small little den, it came to a set of limestone stairs. Where these ended were a set of Umber doors, styled gothically.  
It ascended the steps and came to meet the entrance. Letting down it's hood, underneath the cloth, was a pale, brown-haired man of medium build.

It was hard to tell underneath his cloak whether he was muscular or frail and the strange lighting made his face look indeterminate in structure.

The doors were attached to a strange mansion without any real focus to time-period. There were elements from all kinds of cultures, many of them far older than the city that surrounded it.  
It was almost like a castle, possessing full-fledged spires that travelled up into darkness. Where the ceiling was, he couldn't say. Given the way this place worked, it was probably just an endless void.

The man placed a hand on the surface of the door.

As expected, it was cold, borderline arctic. This didn't stop him, he embraced the rigid temperature like an old friend.  
With a small amount of force applied, it gave way into a strange emptiness. The hollow consumed fear, bathing him in twisted glooms.

It felt like someone had been murdered here. There was a smell of old books and mustard gas.

Quaint.

The man walked inside. A pair of glowing red embers opened in the distant shadow, welcoming it's visitor with open passion. Those eyes had all the seeming of a demon's that was dreaming.  
In the world of darkness, the spires seemed to clamor at it's awakening, finally receiving a visitor after so long. Yesterday no longer existed, meaning nothing.

He staggered towards this black creation, the murkiness enveloping him, and the doors closed tight.

There was a violent sound of metal on flesh. A few thuds shook the ground.  
A sudden, festering scream rung out, followed by several strained howls and the sound of sloshing blood.

It was some time before anything happened: A stilted silence.

Then, the doors opened.

Out came a different person altogether. It was male, and possessed a well-muscled but athletic build.

His face was handsome and familiar.

He had white hair and a royal blue leather-coat adorned with snowy decals on the edges and collar, where his lapels should have been.  
Brown boots bound by three straps came up to below his knees, featureless black slacks, and a long-sleeve white-turtleneck, guarded by a dark button-up shirt, filled out the rest of him.  
The look was unique and stylish in it's own way, topped off with fingerless brown gloves.

He casually sauntered forth, a formal katana clasped in his left hand.

Taking a moment to run his fingers through his hair, he pushed it back into a comfortably-spiked manner that appeared naturally feathered.  
It was almost like someone cosmically styled his hair during the motion. Very different indeed, from the man that had entered previously.

Bringing his fist down to observe it temporarily, he clasped it open and moved around the tendons. It felt new, though it was so old.

He smirked and spoke to himself, "There's much to do."

* * *

 **-Someplace else, on the East Coast of America-**

* * *

Helena found herself struggling to concentrate on Bayman.

She kept stopping in an attempt to crosscheck what she was hearing with her own knowledge, but it just wouldn't happen. On a day like this, that seemed to be the average for her.

"Are you okay, ma'am?" He said just after she zoned out of space again.

"Hmm? I'm fine. I'm just- It's hard to keep my mind together right now." The buxom blonde cracked a weak smile.

"Okay. Ma'am, please, you should rest. I'll come back later."

He was troubled to see his longtime boss of four years in such a worn out state. Though attempts to brainstorm an idea with her were made, she was simply non-receptive.  
Just peachy on a hot day like today. There was an invasive funk on everyone's mind, no one knew why. It was just one of those days where no one wanted to wake up.  
Fitting, they'd be here at a failing company.

"I assure you." She said. "I'm alright, I need coffee."

Helena went over from her couch to the desk and pressed the intercom once more.

"Kokoro, a word."

A soft and feminine voice answered, "Coming!"

Hurried footsteps could be heard as Kokoro paced from her office to Helena's.  
In the time since the last tournament, she had become close with her half sister, and eventually accepted a job position when Helena had fired a Donovan-affiliated employee.  
Well, that's how it worked in this reality anyway. She was sure there was some parallel dimension where she hadn't done so, but for whatever reason, here she had faith.

Rushing to the room, the young woman opened the doors.

"Miss Douglas, what did you need?"

"I need a frappe. When you come back. . . Stay. There's something we must discuss." Helena realized as soon as she spoke, her assistant had become extremely intimidated.

Eh, she couldn't help it, she was high-strung as it was.

"Don't worry, you're not fired! I just want to bring you in on something." The woman said with a rare laugh.

"Oh, good! You really had me worried there!" The bubbly, happy, yet apprehensive young lady walked off to go make Helena's request.

The current CEO thought to herself that she was a sweet girl. Potentially, she might be good as a successor, of course that was why she had to talk to her though.

Bayman saw the displayed look of affection, but decided to keep it to himself. It was kind of understood that employees shouldn't trifle with boss subject matter.  
He knew that Helena was fond of her, but it wasn't the time to go on about it like he was some guidance councelor. Their sisterly bond was very important, so he thought better of it.

Staring at his employer, he saw that she finally had come to grips with her own weaknesses and flaws, at least temporarily.

Something was markedly different, and he might know just what.

He attributed this to exhaustion from the day, but began to realize it was something more than.  
She looked sensitive there, pouting almost as she kept her position open. The entire time he was wondering why she'd even called him in, but maybe it was just to talk.  
Maybe, it really was just because she was tired of being lonely. He hoped she didn't see him romantically, that was something he didn't need right now.  
Well, perhaps not, she was a beautiful woman truly. Honestly, he'd always found her amazing, not that any other man wouldn't too. Still, she was boss.

"We've lost a lot of our own." The Russian said.

"What?" Helena was a little surprised.

"We've lost lots of friends over the years. The Mugen Tenshin Clan won't even talk with us anymore. Lisa . . . well, we know how that turned out.  
There has to be some new allies to turn to, but the company really struck out after the ninjas. Maybe we should. . . Maybe we could launch a new tournament?"

The expression on her face changed.

"You're not seriously suggesting we start another one. The last was a catastrophic commercial failure. It well underperformed in almost all aspects!" Helena was right.

Bayman knew it too.

The previous competition was very much a failure due to the MIST fiasco and the controversy surrounding the legendary Bass Armstrong's defeat.  
Disappointment also pooled over what was viewed as a lackluster line-up. It wasn't their fault specifically, some people just don't have charisma, so to speak.  
Many critics considered the tournament a massive let down by comparison to its predecessors.

But the man had a response.

"We weren't thinking hard enough; it was just a bland repeat of what we've done before. To get past that financial failure, the next one would have to cut costs on advertisement, venues, and broadcast.  
We'd need a way to do all three while retaining interest from the primary commercial market. There's a few other tournaments that still do what we did, but not on the same scale."

Her interest was peaking. He had a surprisingly adept mind for business.

What could his idea for a unique tournament be? She could only say, "Go on."

He started up his creative engines,

"We don't even own the finals building anymore, so. . . What if the next Dead Or Alive tournament happened in a city?  
Not just limited to one building, but across the entire area. All that would be needed would be an isolated location. Perhaps an evacuated town or island.  
If we had something to work with already, the only thing left to do would be to refurnish aspects of some of the buildings, make it livable for the contestants."

Good so far.

"As for broadcast, I believe a simple camera system and some handhelds will do. Streaming would probably be the most practical direction. Most likely Amazon." Bayman finished his first few thoughts.

This still left him with what to do for advertisement and promotion.

Meanwhile, Helena was awed by his burst of imagination. She was still tired, but found herself mesmerized.

He'd captivated her entire attention with that one solution.

The woman decidedly responded, "You've sold me on it."

He was astonished, "Really, seriously?"

She said, "Yes. I believe you had a great idea."

"So _this_ is what that feels like." Bayman sarcastically pondered.

His boss giggled in response, catching him off guard. He'd never actually made her laugh before.  
He again wondered whether or not the heat was making everyone crazy, making them lose their inhibitions.

Either way, he liked this looser, more personable side to his employer. . . Despite the fact that their conversation had been making him quite uncomfortable.

"I have a question though," He declared, almost warning her.

"Oh?" The woman inquired.

Bayman asked this question because he hadn't thought of it yet, "What should the prize be?"

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, in Edgemere-**

* * *

The office was empty now. The door was locked shut and the open sign was flipped to closed.

From the back of Dante's adjoined studio apartment, loud noises emanated, which included bed squeaks and deep breathing.

Dante was receiving his effective payment for the job. Christie knew he was caught in her web now.

The mere idea that he'd let this happen kind of detracted from the fun, but then he'd realize what kind of city he was in.  
People did this stuff all the time, he wasn't alone in this idea. Besides, she was absolutely gorgeous, rocking that dress more than a rock band.  
Her legs wrapped around him. Those red fingernails dug into his back.

She made occasional moans when Dante used a favorable technique.

She writhed around on the bed with him, as if they'd fused into one thing that was moving for the first time. It really was amazing what kind of inventive activity two grown adults could consent to.

She'd promised handsome reimbursement and indeed stayed true to her word.  
What caught her off guard was his approach. He was both dominant and relaxed.

Yeah, that was the norm with him. He just didn't care, and that gave him an advantage a lot of the time. There wasn't a moment where he didn't know what he was doing.

Usually she was the dominant partner, yet the gorgeous manipulator found herself equaled. He knew she thought she was all that, so he enlightened her, made her squeal out.  
What would have been something average and uninteresting for her had become dark, twisted fun, and oddly heated. It was like an argument, but. . . Yeah no, it was just really good.  
He complimented her sultry approach with a calm masculinity, and god damn it she hadn't ever felt that from another man. Maybe it was because she killed them before they could get this far.  
Well, whatever, here they were. Sweat poured out her body, held limply in his arms after round one. Give her a few minutes and it'll be time for the next bout.

Sure enough, it came, and kept at it constantly, in all kinds of positions.

There were no words exchanged, after all, who was he to spoil a good party?

During the peak of the third inning, she rolled over on top and flexed her hips, rhythmically rubbing her pelvis back and forth. She kept going and going and going. . .  
United, they released one another, and she felt a surge comb through her. The heat allowed him to feel connected to something for the first time in ages. Life pumped in from his chest.  
He clasped onto the sheets hard, freeing the spread from beneath the mattress.

She grabbed his head, attached to her breast, and ran her fingers through his hair.

Every ounce of emotion he let flow into her, each second of molten joy reached the spot that made her curvaceous thighs twitch.  
She continued to hold on, savoring the sensation of him driven inside her. The man rested back onto the pillows, tilting his head up into headboard out of basic reflex.  
Glued to his mouth, she followed him down to lay there on top of him. The man gave a few extra thrusts and she clutched onto the side's of head.

Her voice soothed out an expressive pleasure.  
The whimpers made it all the more gratifying.

So, the orgasm was done.

She smiled to herself, and lightly pecked at his cheeks. He returned the favor with a few of the right motions; some squeezes and a fiery kiss when she wasn't ready.

She tasted about as brilliant as she looked, on both accounts. It was a long time before Christie climbed off of him.

The two lay next to each other for a few moments. Good god that was. . . Interesting.  
Sitting up, she lit a cigarette. Dante didn't have an ashtray. He wasn't about to kick her out of bed for it.

"Smoke?" She casually prodded his inner-thigh with her foot.

"Thanks but no thanks." He replied, resting his arm underneath her smooth backside.

"Shame. I would have thought you to be the kind of man who enjoyed a good fag."

"Say what?" Dante asked, apprehensively.

'Right, American.'  
She explained, "That's what we call cigarettes in the UK. Or at least we used to."

Relieved, the smooth slayer told her, "Ah. Yeah, no, I quit a long time ago."

"Righto. Anyway, I enjoyed this little chat, but now I must be going. You'll still take care of this?"

Dante was still feeling the endorphin high.  
It was almost like he'd shot up on heroin.

"Yeah. . . I got it. Oh, wait a sec. What's your number?"

" _My_ number? Oh dear, I don't plan to stick around." She couldn't believe his naïveté.

"Where'll you go?" He replied.

"Probably California. Why? You can't follow me their, it's not good for business." She said, referencing his apparent activities.

Like he needed her to tell him.

"Well, no. I got that. I figured I'd need your number so I can let ya know when the job's done." Dante got up from the bed and put on his underwear, black in color, unsurprisingly.

He was smarter than he looked, possibly much more than she gave him credit for.

Christie thought to herself.

A sudden epiphany struck her. This could be used as an advantage.

If he would be dumb enough to call, she could continue using him as a tool.

Grinning widely, "You know what? I think I'll stick in town for a little while longer, then."

Finding a piece of paper, she used a pen scattered on Dante's cheap nightstand to write down her 'business' number.  
Afterwards, the charming siren placed it on the bedside table partially under the lamp. He was sitting at his personal desk now.  
He had a laptop, papers and various other items littered about on top. Looking over some supposed paper work, he read something about rent and another thing about 'serious property damage.'

"Don't lose it, silly boy."

Either way, his ears perked up immediately, "Boy? That's not what you said a few hours ago."

"Just a term of endearment, sweetie." Christie finished her smoke and began getting dressed.  
She slipped back into those tight clothes and gave him a raunchy kiss for the road.

"Right, I'm off. Don't think about me too often." She was confident about him. The beauty had the bounty hunter right in place.

"It'll certainly be hard to stop."

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, in a thick Japanese forest-**

* * *

A man in all black was sitting in peace. He was meditating.

He had a sheathed katana and a cloth face-guard. No Falcon Helmet anymore, he left his hair and forehead exposed.

It was silent, tranquil even. Nearby was a clean creek a few feet wide.

It was broken off from a waterfall around two miles away.

Ryu wasn't visiting this place. He had a small, humble home he'd built in a grotto nearby, hidden behind the flowing cascade.  
The area he currently occupied was where he had chosen to reflect, feeling it had that certain 'decent zen' quality.

Ryu's regular cogitation was interrupted by thoughts of his past. Flickering in his mind like old film inserted into an equally-old projector, he remembered what life was once like.  
In his altered state of mind, these thoughts of personal history began to become significantly more vivid. They played like a reality simulator, forcing him to relive it in person.

Before he could pull himself out, the memories transcended into a vision.

* * *

 **-Mugen Tenshin Clan village, four years prior-**

* * *

Hayate, the current leader of his people, was panicked.

"Ayane! We need more towels. Three more people have fallen to fever!"

Ayane quickly left the Japanese styled house and ran outside where she went to the doctors next door and grabbed a few more towels from them.  
She sprinted back towards the house, taking all the shortcuts she could. Their village was small but militant.

There were multiple clansmen in the infirmary where the leader was aiding who he could with the help of numerous nurses.  
They had not been injured physically, but had recently become violently ill. He was trying to do everything in his power to keep them alive. One of them was an unmasked Hayabusa.  
Although he had fallen sick not long ago as well, he had resisted the mysterious disease for far longer than any other shinobi. He had only collapsed from it earlier that day.

He was made of tougher stuff.

"Damn it, this isn't enough! We're running out of medicine!" Hayate said as he placed a towel on Ryu's already-drenched clammy forehead.

"But I just came back! This is too much!" The kunoichi complained.

She'd been given the runaround by him for the past few weeks and was finally hitting a saturation point.

"There's too many of them to handle at once Hayate! I need help!" She exclaimed.

"You do not need help! You are a Ninja!" He barked, "You should be working until your feet are bleeding!"

Ayane's voice swelled, "But my feet _are_ bleeding! And sore, so sore. . . Look at my hands!"

She showed him her palms and, at first, he was rather shocked when he saw awful blisters, cuts, open sores, and scrapes on them.  
The amount of frantic work made no time for rest or self-care. This was the time when their people might be destroyed, they couldn't let their history be lost.

He would not let her rest.

"It does not matter! We need to heal our people!" He retorted.

The younger ninja was incensed further, both at him and herself. After all, it was her very own family that she was refusing to help anymore.

"These people have _not_ been healing! Have you not paid any attention? _They're getting worse_!"

At this, Hayate immediately stood up and shoved her outside.

Sliding the door shut, he stated to her in a hushed but urgent tone, "How dare you say that in front them. _They_ are _your_ family and would gladly do this for you without question, _you_ should be filling them with hope! Not dread. You come in here and ask me to stop!? Never!"

She began tearing up.

"Don't you think I know that? I'll never be able to forget them. . . They're dying in there, and there's nothing that I can do to stop that."

Hayate acknowledged this, acknowledged her concerns. There was a quiet moment between the half-siblings. They stared at one another, Hayate calm and Ayane shaken.

He broke the lack of action and put his arm on her shoulder, then pulled her in to hug.

After some time, he said, "It is overwhelming, I understand. But we can't give up on them. If we do not fight for them until the end, then what do we have? No honor."

He continued to embrace her. However, suddenly, there was a disturbance. A large sound crashed through what felt like the wall right behind them.  
Quickly darting back in, they discovered that a gigantic hole had been burned through the other side of the building. Looking around, the nurses were terrified and Ryu was missing.

"What in the world-" Ayane trailed off.

"Are you okay?" He frantically asked the terrified nurse.

She simply nodded in return.

"Where did he say he was going?!" She did not say anything in response.

"Tell me!" Yelling when he said this.

The nurse tried desperately to muster a sentence.

"H-he s-said he was going to. . ." She couldn't finish.

"What? What did he say?!" He yelled at her again.

She began to sob.

"He s-said he was go-. . . Going to-" She just couldn't bring herself to finish her sentence.

"Gah! You're no help! Let's go!" With that, they leapt out and began tracking Ryu, the hard way.

While they leapt from building to building, both couldn't stop thinking about what their friend would do; what it was that woman couldn't bring herself to say.

Ryu was most definitely not himself. The mysterious ailment afflicting the clan caused temporary madness as a side effect in some members.  
How the ninja had managed to move on his own was beyond them, the delirium was usually limited to strange statements or ramblings.

Hayate was extremely anxious.

If it turned out that he was going to do what his friend thought he might, it could end up catastrophic.

They managed to track him down to the village center. There, he'd assaulted the guards of the records building.

Hayate spotted a scroll in his hand.  
He approached their delirious ally pensively.

"What are you doing?"

Ryu laughed, something they had never heard him do before. A cold chill ran up their spine.

"What am I doing? I'm curing myself, what does it look like?" His voice remained monotone.

"That's. . . A ninpo scroll. What are you going to use it for?" Hayate continued on, trying to regain trust between them, "I don't think that is a good idea in your condition.  
Please, old friend, let us take you back to the infirmary."

He reacted harshly, yet his tone remained unchanged, "No. I will not let my life be taken by some vile disease! I've survived far worse. And now. . . _This_!? This, of all things, fells me."

Ayane tried to connect with him, "Why not let us help you? You were doing well!"

Ryu was quick to answer.

"Don't play with me. I'm not some run-of-the-mill fool. I know what you said. . . I'm going to die, right?"

"W-what? No! You are not in your right mind. _Please_ , calm down. Talk to us!" She pleaded.

He was adamant. Nothing could soothe him.

The man was terrified and in constant, horrendous pain he'd never felt before. Worse, it wouldn't go away no matter what, a feeling he wasn't used to.

"I-. . . _I!_ I am not going to talk anymore! I have to do this. I must make myself stronger. . . To overcome this. I am above this pain. I will not let the fiends come back here and destroy this village. It's your birthright. Who am I to let you down? I may not be from this clan, but I must protect my friends!" With that he opened the scroll and began looking at it.

The distinctive pin used to keep it closed was blown over to Hayate's feet by a minor wind.

He quickly inspected, and then recognized that it was a special categorizer; a type used to distinguish forbidden techniques from acceptable ones.

The fighter's eyes widened, "Wait, stop! Stop yourself, you know you can't use that!"

Realizing he'd no longer listen to reason, the man called to his partner.

"Ayane!"

She teleported behind Ryu and rushed him.

Despite being weakened, the black-clad ninja was still able to dodge her strike. He was immediately faced by Hayate, who attempted to knock him down.

He remained defensive however, and proceeded to counter a combo from him, three punches, two kicks and an elbow. The man in dark blocked the elbow and used a quick flip-kick to repel him.

The purple ninja jumped on his back and attempted to tackle him to the ground but Ryu pulled her off.

She quickly recovered and tried to use a chain of her own but he beamed himself away before she could hit him.

Looking around, the duo searched briefly for the master ninja and found that he had teleported himself out to a flat cliff on a mountain peak. They went there as well.  
He had thrown up blood from the exertion on his life force but had finished reading the scroll and proceeded to begin activation of the ninpo.

"Ryu! Stop this, you have no idea if it'll even succeed!" Hayate belted at him.

"I can't just lay down and waste away. I have responsibilities more important than anything."

As he began to use the forbidden move, Ayane and her half-brother both charged him in an attempt to stop the activation.

A powerful aura exploded around the man as the skill initiated at the last second. It forcibly blasted both attackers off their feet.

The red energy indicated that the ninpo was cursed in origin.

Ryu unleashed an overtly loud, insane roar. The intensity of the atmosphere increased and as it grew, it's color shifting a pale, bright green.  
The aura eventually burst into a massive column of light that shot upwards. He continued to bellow and brought his arms up into a charging stance, akin to something out of a stereotypical anime.

Eventually, after a few moments the light faded away as soon as it erupted.

Ayane got to her feet. In the aftermath, she saw he'd regained color to his skin. The unsettled trooper struggled to get up and saw her glaring at him.

He looked at the other man lying around twenty feet to her left.

"What have you done?" She asked him.

His sickness quickly falling away, he felt empowered and, in fact, even stronger than before.  
However, with his sanity restored to him, he quickly realized the gravity of his mistake.

"I don't know."

Hayate picked himself up and joined the stand off.

"Ryu. . . Why?"

"I don't know. I can't-" He didn't have anything; he just crossed a very thick, sacred line.

She was curious as much as she was shocked.

"Which technique?"

"Art of the True Wielder. . ."

This skill was similar to Art of Divine Life, but where as that physically cured the body from injury, this art optimized the Ki flow in his anatomy permanently, in addition to an array of other genetic 'adjustments.' In one instant, the fragment of a dead god's soul was pulled into this dimension through the imperceptible membrane between, using his body as the carrier for it's transportation. All the raw strength bubbled inside him. It was merged into his cells, gave him strength beyond strength. Any mortal diseases inside his physiology were destroyed.

In essence, he had become a true demigod.

He'd known of it, as had all the others. It was an ability that tread into waters unknown.  
Many of the clan felt the power it generated came from demonic sources, as legend stated those who used it turned into monsters.  
Maybe he was a demon now, he didn't feel normal anymore. He couldn't feel a difference in his persona.

He was no more monstrous than the day before.

"No! No, no, no! If only you- God-. . . How could you!? An outlawed art. . . You _know_ what has to happen next." Hayate solemnly admonished his friend.

"I believe so. But, I can't let that happen." He said in response, pausing slightly out of regret.

The man was left stupefied. "What do you mean _'you can't let that happen_? _'_ You raised your fists, fought against us. We tried to help you and you did this anyway! I _am_ sorry, but you _must_ come with us."

This was unfair, he'd done this only out madness that wasn't his own.  
Where did they have the right to say that he was a criminal? It was beyond his control. He wasn't in his right mind.  
He tired of the strident rules, the overt constrictions of ancient society. If he gained this power beyond his control, he didn't need to reject of fear it.  
It was part of him now, this other soul. So he would use it for good, he wouldn't dare to harm his friends. That wasn't in his nature.

So still, he would refuse them.

"I can't do that. We might be friends, but I can't go down for this. There's too much at stake." Ryu said as he stood his ground.

"For Genra's sake, you can't be serious! You took an oath to balance the world, whatever action that may be. Can't you see that you **can not** remain like this? You are not _natural_ anymore. You may not even be human." The talented leader was distressed. He never thought he'd have to fight a friend.

Not like this.

"Was I ever human to begin with?" His response shocked both of them, their faces turning from grief to disturbance.

The woman begged him, "But your honor-"

"I already lost my honor, Ayane." He wistfully refused to return to the village with his friends.

"This can only be used once per person. Here." He folded the scroll back and held it with his outstretched arm. "Take it back. Lock it away where nobody can ever find it. Bury it beneath the sea."

Hayate refused.

"This is unbelievable, no, unthinkable! That scroll should have been destroyed. If you won't come back with us, then there is only one way to proceed."

They struck there signature martial poses against him. Bitterly, Ryu assumed his own.

And as soon as it began, the vision swiftly ended.

* * *

 **-The Forest returned-**

* * *

Now a rogue, the man stood and looked at the ground, mourning his decisions.

"I miss the days when things were not so complicated." As soon as he said this, several ninja suddenly sprung from their hiding places and surrounded him.

"I knew you were there. You didn't have to hide."

The grizzled man did not receive a response.

"Do you all really want this?"

Silence.

"Very well. . . I'm sorry." He stated as he proceeded to un-sheath his Dragon Sword.

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

I hoped you enjoyed the read and reviews are appreciated as always.

 **For notes, see the manifest.**


	3. Inconvenienced

**-In Edgemere-**

* * *

Dante was dressed now and preparing to leave.

Christie had left an hour ago.

She had given him coordinates to the location of Helena and Bayman. He thought it was bizarre that she'd given him longitude and latitude instead of an address number.

He knew that there was something a little off about the job from the get-go, but he was continuing to go on with the ruse. He couldn't get what she looked like out of his head.

He saw, he remembered: beauty.

In a world like his, that was excessively hard to come by. He could look across the street and see the ugliness of another reality bleeding through into physical form.

It was all around him.

Proceeding to slip his coat back on, he snapped his fingers.

All of a sudden, the plain looking walls in his office became ordained with numerous weapons and 'trophies' of his past victories.  
These included demon heads, demon weapons, and severed, sprawled out wings. He kept these hidden with a special illusion he had learned.  
This was to at least hide the hideous nature of his world from human eyes.

He could call this mirage off and on with the click of his fingers; as easy as lifting a glass of water.

Taking two pistols that materialized on his office desk, he periodically spun them in his hands like an old gunman.  
They were large, being oddly angular and specialized: unlike any other handgun at a store, even handcrafted ones.  
Of the design, one was black, the other silver. Bearing a sleek, redesigned approach, they looked to be personal, oversized M1911's

"Ebony, Ivory. Time to go to work, boys."

He gave one last quick spin and rapidly holstered them on his back.

Strolling over to the wall lined with his personal weapons collection, it essentially functioned as his armoire. He called it the wall of arms.

He eyed each one to determine which he should use, ultimately deciding on old faithful, Rebellion.

As his first, it was his most prized and well kept, likely due to sentimental value. The skeleton guard was polished grey, and it's mouth was closed.

"You should do." The man stated.

He placed the blade on his back. In spite of him having no shoulder holster, it clung to him, needing him to survive.  
No doubt this was some special ability he'd mastered from his paternal lineage.

He snapped again. The shop returned to 'normal,' despite him still being able to perceive it's true form.

The weapons he chose were also invisible to the average human eye.

He looked at the location he was given and sighed.

"Right. Longitude and latitude; am i looking for the equator? Friggin' brits. Should've asked for better directions."

He set off for a preliminary investigation, ask around town locally where he could find those two. These directions were practically useless.  
Maybe she'd planned that, just wanted to have him for sex or something. It's possible. He just hoped that the woman's problems were local.

So he started walking. And continued walking. . . And walking. . . And walking. . . And even _more_ walking.

Edgemere was ginormous, polluted, and filled with crime, but not exactly the physical kind.

This crime was hidden, controlling all evil behind the scenes. Dante had a responsibility, he would protect any and all people from it.  
But greed and filth ran things around here like a comic book. It was seriously beyond predictable, and his day felt like something carved out of a film.  
The huge nature of the city caused him to suddenly remember how tiny he was by comparison to it all.

He had walked at least ten miles and was still in a broken down, urban environment.

People were partying, unspeakable felonies were being committed in alleys, drugs were being sold to children, and he was just strolling down the road.  
. . . With an abnormally-sized, invisible sword, and two guns strapped to his back. Sometimes he wondered if he'd died and gone into some sort of crazed limbo-afterlife.

'But enough rational thinking,' He stated to himself.

He was going to get to the bottom of this little mystery. The more he thought about it, the more it bugged him.

Continuing to walk, the city eventually gave way to a polished megapolis.

A higher-class sect where large mega malls and casinos were built, classy women drank liquor bought for them by rich, optionally attractive men.

Film studios were omni-present, big money was casually thrown about, and attractive celebrities abounded here.  
At least four film stars walked by him on the neon-lit streets. He wandered into a large convention center where a sporting event was being held.  
It was some kind of free form fighting tournament. Jesus, it was like a Los Angeles for the East.

He joined a crowd huddled around a cluster of preview monitors, and witnessed a promo for an upcoming, scheduled fighter.

"Are you ready? Because today's that big day where you; yes you! Can have a chance to fight me! Former undisputed world champion Bass Armstrong!"  
The man said. He was a big, burly fellow but intensely muscular.

Nice idea, but did the guy have to be so cheesy?

Dante sarcastically spoke up, "If he's undisputed, how come he's a _former_ world champion?"

A disgruntled fan turned to him from the crowd and yelled, "He retired, asshole! He vacated the title when no one could beat him!"

"Wait a minute, I remember this guy. He used to be. . . Fatter. Isn't he that silly wrestler who lost to the Bruce Lee clone?" Dante secretly meant it every time he came across condescendingly.

Some humans were just pricks no matter what.

The rowdy man immediately jumped at him through the crowd. Launching into a tackle, the slayer merely stepped away from his line of fire.  
He slammed onto the ground. Twisting around, the fan saw the guy smirking down at him. He rubbed his nose with his thumb, like the aforementioned martial artist.

"You, uh. . . Ya need some help there, buddy?" He said, slightly kneeling down.

The others around him chuckled a bit.

Not the type to diffuse the situation, Dante's aggressor struggled to his feet. He dusted himself off and assumed an inexperienced pose.  
His posture was slouched and pained, not exactly threatening anyway. He launched an awkward right swing at him.  
Repeating the same formula as before, he merely sidestepped the man and shoved his fist away as it travelled by.

Stumbling forward, the guy wound up smacking a woman's baby with his knuckles.

Left flabbergasted, "What the. . . Son of a bitch!"

"Don't talk to him like that, he's just a baby!" Dante mockingly spat.

"Someone help! He's punching my kid!" The mother cried out. She liked the way Dante looked.  
Being technically called a bitch also didn't sit very well with her, but beggars can't be choosers.

The fan was horrified and focused his anger back on the bounty hunter.

Yelling at him while trying to attack again, the results were the same.

Dante merely tapped the man's forehead and he crashed to the plaza's carpet on his back.  
The counter was so lightning fast, it went ignored from those watching. The man laid there unconscious, and the others had a good laugh as they started moving along.

As he straightened up his coat he heard, "Say! You got a lot of strength there. You should sign up."

Dante looked in the direction of the voice and saw a strange sight.

It was an African-American man with green hair and ridiculously small, black-orange shorts. He wore a white tank top that was tied up to show his midriff, and he had an effeminate kind of swagger.  
This combined with sunglasses indoors made the man all the more flamboyant. He was a walking poster for 1990s beach attire, right down to the ridiculous hair dye.

"Uh, ahoy there." He said, unsure what to make of him.

"Hello to you too. Name's Zack. I'm lookin for some new, unknown fighters with lotsa' strength. Interested?" The man said.

"No thanks. I'm tied up with some work right now." Dante replied.

Zack wouldn't give up easily, "Oh this isn't for now, this is a long term opportunity! There's money to be made in these parts. Come on, whaddya say, huh? Lets talk?"

Again, he wouldn't agree.

"Heh, no. I'd love to, I guess, but I really can't. Trust me, my job right now is long term enough.  
Even if I'm just lookin' for info, I have to go digging for it. It's both time consuming and time sensitive." He stated in a not so polite tone.

But the man insisted.

"Hey, look. I know you don't like me, I can tell by the way you're lookin'. But you don't understand. You just gave that guy a concussion and nobody even saw it.  
That talent could be used. Hell, that's inhuman man. Besides, I'm a very well connected guy. Any information you're looking for, I'm the man."

Dante looked him over.

He could tell that Zack was largely sincere.

It wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but if the man were telling the truth, it wouldn't be so bad to maybe help him out.  
In exchange, he'd get some help on the hooker-husband combo, and maybe even get help deciphering these directions.

He might as well be carrying written sign language.

After a brief moment of deciding, he said, ". . . Oh fine. You may actually be able to help me find what I'm looking for. But this better be quick!"

Zack grinned, "Trust me, man. This is gonna work out beautifully."

* * *

 **-45 minutes later in a different area of the sports venue-**

* * *

"I'm not wearing that."

"Oh come on! You said you'd go along with me! This is part of that. You know how much this suit cost me!-?" Zack was frustrated.

"Look, you're a nice guy, I misjudged you on that, but I'm not wearing that stupid outfit. I don't need the gloves or headgear either." Dante was unwilling to wear wrestling spandex.

It was black and pink with a skull on the front, also possessing cartoonish gloves with a mask.  
He agreed to help him out, but he wouldn't demoralize himself doing it.

"But- Come on!"

"Are you deaf? No." The slayer responded.

"Aw forget it then. You can go." Zack decided he wasn't going to go through with the deal if this man wasn't willing to bend to his rules.

Even if his rules were fuckin' silly.

"Wait a minute now. I'm not leaving. You want to use me? Fine. Just not in the costume. Now, lets do this. Tell me what I want to know." He said.

Zack thought for a moment. If he couldn't get Dante to wear the outfit, maybe he could find a new way to market him.  
The potential appeal of a fighter who was so good he didn't need to wear sports gear? Definitely a popular thought, even if it wasn't true.  
It'd be revolutionary, the way wrestlers dress out of necessity. . . This guy could be his ticket to the mainstream.

"Okay, okay. It's back on! Here's what I want you to do." He paused.

Dante was sick of wasting time, "What now? Is it some kind of promo or photo shoot?"

"Fight in the games."

Shock danced across his face. He didn't have time for this, " _What_!? I don't have time for this!"

See? He doesn't. It's not like he shouldn't've seen it coming anyway.

Zack knew he needed to convince him. "Look, I'm a manager of many talents; you look like you have some. The way I see it, if you enter in to this, prove yourself to the crowd, we could both make a handsome buck here." He said.

The silver-haired man pondered this.

He realized that he actually needed the money, there were some lingering debts hanging over his head.  
But, he would have to share it and he'd be delayed in his professional task. It was a harder decision than he realized.

"I'm sorry, but no. I need to find someone, as I've said, time is rather important. This side quest's too much of a bother, even though the money sounds good. It probably isn't mu-"

"The prize if you beat Armstrong is two million."

Dante nearly choked.

"Just if you beat that old guy?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, just if you beat 'that old guy.'" Zack replied.

Dante was almost convinced but reigned himself in. He decided that his mission was worth more to him personally.

"Haah, 'Kay. . . I have to put my business first. Besides, I don't think you know who I'm looking for."

Zack looked confounded at this. He put his arm around Dante's shoulder and pulled him side-by-side, as if they were old friends.

"My man, lemme tell you somethin'. If I say to you I can supply info, there isn't anybody else who can give the same quality, or quantity, as me.  
Especially when it comes to people! I'm such a people-person, it ain't even funny! Who ya lookin' for?" he asked.

Dante said with some hesitance, "Bayman, and Helena Douglas."

He was unsure if Zack would react badly, considering what he was hired to do to these people.  
But if he didn't know that, it wouldn't really hurt him. That is, if he even knew them. Makes sense.

"Helena? Oh sure! Me and her used to be really tight! I mean, I don' work for her anymore. But I hear she works a lot with Bayman now." He said, unknowingly confirming Dante's perception of the story.

Amazing; he didn't even pick up a negative connotation.

". . . Aaand?" There was silence, "Where can I find them?"

Dante was an impatient man, but Zack knew that this is where he could rope him in.

"Fight. Get to the finals. Even if you lose, you'll get the consolation prize, which is five hundred thousand.  
So i'll still tell you, but only after the fight is done, and you're disqualified. You don't make it that far, no deal."

"Damn. All right. Disqualified, huh? You may be surprised." Dante proceeded to walk off to wait on a nearby bench. Meanwhile, his new apparent manager went to go sign him up.

* * *

 **-Half an hour later-**

* * *

A booming voice stretched outward from the arena ring. Up above were concert-sized speaker cabinets, blasting the voice at perfect modulation.  
The hitman was completely calm. Confidence didn't even enter the picture. He knew he would win from the start, you knew it too.

The voice continued to echo with some reverberation as it spoke the words, " **Are you ready? To see the most anticipated fighting event since Armstrong Mania XXV?-!** "

Dante could see the roster on a backstage monitor. He had been signed up in haste and so was randomly selected to fight first.  
This didn't bother him. As long as he could get it done and over with, he was content. Who was he fighting?

" **Introducing to you, the main event of the decade, iiiiiiiiiit's the REGAAAL ROUGHHOOUUUSE!** "  
The announcer yelled to much excitement from the crowd.

Zack was now shirtless. He was sweating profusely from anticipation. Having picked some nobody out of the blue to fight, his reputation as a serious rep was on the line.  
There were a few strings to pull, but he got Dante in quickly before the show. It occurred to him that he maybe wasn't so good at decision-making.  
That never stopped him before, so he just went with it, nail-chattering and all. He had faith, this man was different from anyone he'd ever met before.

Maybe it was the confidence he exuded. . .

The man at the center continued.

" **Now, ladies and gentlemen, the contestants! First up is a rockin' Spanish-born mma fighter from America. She blew you away at the last Dead Or Alive Tournament, you know her, you love her, give it up forrr MILAAA!** "

The crowd gave immense cheers as the attractive 27-year-old walked out through the arch. Up the path, into the ring, and there she stepped.

" **Second up, we have a most mysterious fighter, I don't mind telling you. . . Who was added at the last minute to the line-up, give it up for the stylish, sadistic DANTEEE!** " The announcer and Mila both watched as the unusual, silver-haired blue-eyed man strode to the ring.

'Stylish and Sadistic? That's sports entertainment for ya.' Dante thought.

The crowd wasn't cheering for him but still acted rowdy and noisy. Once he got up into the ring, the announcer began explaining the rules.

" **Alright, folks, this and all matches forthcoming are no-holds-barred. You are permitted to use any fighting style so long as there is no biting, eye-gouging or any other form of mutilation involved. Do you understand?** " He asked, surprisingly mellow and genuine in his delivery.

Dante coolly replied, "Crystal."

The girl gave an energetic, "Uh-huh!"

" **Then LLLLLEETS FIGHT!** " As soon as he said this, the announcer fled through the ropes.

The man remained unmoving.

Mila began dancing around vivaciously. He noted her consistent footwork.

She circled him and realized that, oddly, he wasn't wearing any typical boxer or wrestling gear.

"Um, mister, aren't you afraid that you're going to sweat?" she asked.

"I don't sweat." He retorted coldly. The audience was quickly beginning to get bored by the lack of fighting.

"Well, whatever. Look, are you gonna take this seriously or not?" She asked, annoyed at his lack of concern.

Looking down at himself, Dante remarked, "All right," and promptly settled himself into a Bruce Lee-esque stance.

The audience roared with anticipation.

"Yeah, yeah, go for the crowd reaction. Are you gonna throw the first punch or should I?" She asked, growing increasingly impatient. This man's mocking demeanor was getting on her nerves.

"Come and try." He remarked.

"Tcht!" She muttered under her breath and lunged forward with a right cross.

Unexpectedly, Dante blocked it with his palm and pushed her back.

She quickly attacked again after a brief moment of disbelief.

This time, she struck with a quick one-two jab and then followed this with a high kick. Incredibly, he dodged her moves effortlessly, and deflected her subsequent attacks downward.

She got frustrated, and launched a flurry of moves. She must have thrown about twenty punches and thirty kicks of varying style.

Each time, he blocked or redirected her attacks away.

She was beginning to get tired but noticed that, true to his word, the man was not sweating. In fact he had not even moved from the spot he was standing in.  
Was he even human? What person could go on that long without so much a drop of perspiration?

"Okay, I think this should do. Hey, look kid, I'm sorry about this, but I have to win." Dante vaguely explained.

Infuriated and confused, Mila responded with, "You're _sorry_? Just who the hell do you think you are? And what do you mean 'this should do?'"

He smirked and knew she wouldn't understand. What normal person could?

"I think I've wasted enough time here. I don't have any more to kill, unfortunately." He said

Mila was humiliated and angered even further, "What!? I'm _wasting your time_?"

Her voice got descending there, dropping lower than the perky, high-pitched tone.

She attacked him with a full body swing, which he sidestepped.

"I'm a professional fighter! I don't waste anyone's time!"

She tried a haymaker but Dante grabbed her arm mid swing and spun her around.

She threw up her elbow to try to catch him off guard, but he blocked, then counter-grabbed this as well.  
Spinning her again, she fell back into his arms, this time with both her hands held behind her back. She couldn't break free at all.  
She attempted to knee him but he countered with a knee of his own. The force was much greater than she expected and she nearly lost her balance, tipping forward in the process.

Staring face to face with him, she noticed that he appeared quite handsome to her. She blushed as she instantly renewed her anger.

Attempting to struggle free again, she learned his grip was superhuman. How was he so strong?

"Again, don't take this the wrong way, but. . ." He abruptly head-butt her. She lost consciousness instantly.

Falling to the ground, she was caught by the slayer and placed there gently.  
The audience went silent due to his sudden, rather unexpected victory. Mila was known to be a very tough fighter.  
Her instant loss was so shocking that the crowd didn't really know how to react at first.

He turned around and walked out of the ring, not bothering to wait for the announcer. While returning to the specialized stage entrance, he raised his right fist in the air.

The crowd immediately bellowed with cheers.

The next several rounds continued on like this.

Dante would defeat multiple fighters, each either unknown or celebrity, and every time they usually lost within a minute.  
Eventually, he even encountered two contestants who directly forfeited the match to him before the fight could even get started.

Each time the crowd reacted in a mixed way, with half the audience throwing objects and screaming insults and boos, while the other half always cheered him on.  
They often referred to him through the garbled chants as 'Dino.' Funny how that works, his name wasn't Dean.  
Eventually the announcer had to spell out his name and pointedly say it for the audience in order to get the chanting right.

Dante only laughed at both reactions, bowing and saluting both his new haters and fans.

Zack grew increasingly worried and more arrogant as well. Ultimately, after numerous victories, the bounty hunter reached the semi-finals.  
In this match, the fighter would battle the other 'winner' and then progress to facing Bass Armstrong. He knew he'd win, it was pointless to deny it.

"Dang, man. Are you sure you don't want to call it quits?" Zack asked worriedly.

With a sigh, the slayer responded, "I'm fine. I actually haven't enjoyed myself like this since the time I had to fight a whole horde of demons at a nightclub."

Dante initially didn't think much of it, but became aware by the weirded-out look from his new friend.

"Uh-. . . Ahaha. That was, uh-. . . That was just the lingo for security guards and crazy high people back in the day." Covering for himself.

Nailed it.

"Oh. Well anyway, are ya sure you can't maybe throw this next fight?"

He was glad Zack ignored his stupid comment but, at the same time, was confused as to why he wanted him to throw the fight.  
He was doing well, he'd easily get the payment he was tasked to retrieve. What was going on in this guy's head?

"Wait, why? What about the money you wanted?" He inquired.

The man reluctantly answered him. "I guess I can't leave you hangin' without an answer. I. . ." He chuckled, "You know it really doesn't matter."

"Spit it." Dante said.

This didn't take much to break his unwillingness.

"Ah well. . . you see, the next opponent you're facing is. . . Haah, Tina Armstrong."

"So?" He replied.

"SO!-? It's Tina Armstrong! She's Bass's _daaughter_. If you beat her, he's gonna flip out when you fight him!"

Dante remained skeptical, "So what? This Strongman can't be all that great if he lost to that 'Lee-guy.'"

Zack made an unintentionally comical noise of shock, "Ahjuh, Wha-hogh- You don't even know who Bass _is_ , do you!? What's wrong with you!?"

"I don't have cable, I use a laptop to stream, and I don't like lame phonies goin' at it ' **in a spit-swapping-make-out-match**.'" Dante mimicked the announcer's voice, "Besides, I never said i didn't know who he was. I _have_ heard of him."

He pointedly ridiculed the 'sport' due to a general dislike for average television.

Zack was irate.

"You don't understand! He didn' do that kind of wrestling! He was flashy, sure, but he's the real deal! Besides, I stuck my neck out here to get you in."

He paused after that, then added, "Also, I might have hit on his daughter. . ."

"You? _You_ tried to hit on his daughter? Man, I mean, you're not unappealing, but did you get a good look at her? I mean, sure it's a poster, but. . . Still. No."  
Dante said, shocked more by the fact that his manager had tried to hit on Bass' daughter.

He defensively stated, "Hey! I'll have you know that I got a girlfriend of my own now! Plus, it was _years_ ago!"

"Yeah, how much you wanna bet he still remembers you?"

"I would lose." Zack reluctantly divulged this.

"Good goin'."

The announcer once again called out to introduce the fighters, signifying the start of the preamble to the match.

" **Ladies and Gentlemen. . .** " As the announcer spoke, Dante noticed an attractive blonde nearby backstage. She was dressed in an all-black bunny-themed wrestling outfit.

A little sexist, but he could dig it. Lord knows, she filled that thing perfectly.

Although she wasn't facing him, he had a distinct feeling that she was likely Tina.

He left Zack's side and approached her.

"Hi." He simply said. She glanced at him, revealing she was better than the posters.

"Yeah? Whatcha want, honey?"

'I want a paddle and a hotel room.' He thought.  
"You're Mrs. Armstrong?" He asked.

She chuckled at this.

Dante felt this aura of warmth, almost as if all of his trouble's could simply fade away.

"No, no, my mother was Mrs. Armstrong. You can call me Tina."

'So, Tina for the night? How much for just one?' He thought to himself again.  
"Tina. That's a fitting name." He said.

"Oh? Why do ya say that?" She asked.

'Because you fit and fill that outfit 100%, baby.' He mused.  
"Tina's a bright and cheerful name. You're a very warm person. I can tell just by talking to you."

She blushed slightly.

"That's sweet. Do you say that to every girl?" She replied, sincerely complimented.

'Only to you babe, all night, over and over and over. . .' He pondered.  
"Just the smart ones." He said.

'I gotta stop thinking like that.' He remarked to himself afterwards.

"I've seen your fights, yer pretty darn good at this. What style is that?" She seemed to be honestly interested.

"Uh, well, I sorta use a freestyle that incorporates a lot of stuff. It's just based on things I've seen. I'm sure there's some Sambo, Jeet Kune Do, Wing Chun, and definitely some Krav Maga."

She laughed at this.

"Krav Maga has all of that in it already, silly. Wow, though. You're unbelievable. You talk about it like it's effortless. You must've trained fer years to be that good."

'Oh honey, I was born this way for yo- Stop it, stop it stop it!' he again interrupted his uncontrollable inner monologue.

"Oh, well. You know. I train as much as the next guy. Anyway, see you out there then." He said.

They quickly wrapped up their conversation together just as the announcer boomed, " **Get ready again because here she is, the one, the only, TINAAA AAARMSTROOONNG!** "

"Oh! Here I go." She left to join the ring.

God, that was cute.

Dante was slightly worried, as he was enticed, but became anxious if he could fulfill his victory.

Zack came up to him and said, "What are you doin'!? You can't hit on her, you're gonna go fight her!"

He remained negligent, "It'll be fine."

" **Reintroducing the most divisive contestant we've had here today as well, people give it up for the silver-haired mystery, the stylish, sadistic DANTEEE!** " He walked out.

Swift reactions abroad. The audience made themselves divided.

He could hear sweeping screams that called either for his victory or for Tina to kill him. It was so hectic he couldn't keep his head straight.

His senses were overloaded, so he just tried not to think.

Either way, he didn't care. Sauntering up to her and the announcer, Dante listened while the rules were explained further.  
He simply continued to look her over. She was absolutely breathtaking. It was a little different than what he'd just experienced.  
Remembering what Christie looked like, he realized that Tina was a very close physical match to her.

They were almost photogenically the same, apart from some minor differences in the face, like her nose and cheeks.  
These women he'd been meeting recently were something out of an adult film. It was a little disconcerting, his luck was usually poor.

They were kind, they got on well with him; a total switch.

Dare he say it, but he possibly found her even more attractive than Christie.  
Maybe it was because she wasn't as slutty, or the natural shade of blonde looked better on her than Christie's platinum.

But he couldn't let that cloud his mind now.

Tina, meanwhile, was plainly standing in a modest fashion.  
Well, as modest as one can in a black bunny spandex suit at a fighting tournament with pre-established fans and popularity.  
How the hell did he get here? If it got him what he needed, it didn't bother him. Still, this was all ridiculous.

She was keeping her thoughts on the fight.

" **Are you both ready?** " The announcer said.

"As opposed to what?" The slayer responded.

Tina merely nodded her head.

" **Good. . . Then LLLLLEET'S FIGHT!** " As soon as the announcer finished speaking, she threw a forward kick.

Dante didn't expect that. He wound up having just enough time to parry. Moving to the side, he avoided her leg.  
Her wrestling-boot made contact with the announcer' face. The slayer could see blood and teeth flying by in slow motion.

The presenter fell to the mat, unconscious. He'd probably miss those teeth. Oh well.

She was a spirited gal, she kept belting out shots at Dante.

A punch landed on his cheek, actually sinking a blow on him. He was stunned at Tina's raw strength, her fired-up aggression.  
She continued after her right cross with a lightning-fast combo aimed at his rib cage. She hit him every time, and then delivered a swing-kick to his temple.  
It knocked him back off his feet.

At least this put distance between them.

"You could give me some warning before you're going to do that!" Dante complained.

He rubbed the side of his head where her cleat dug in.

The woman looked dumbfounded, "You _really are that tough_ , ain't ya?"

Regaining his posture, "Darn. You are _by far_ the strongest here. I think ya cracked one of my ribs."

The corner of her lip twitched up. This is new.

She resumed the assault without warning, throwing out a left jab that he batted away with a palm.  
Catching herself, she delivered a quick followup kick that struck him in the chin.

He faltered backwards a few steps and she grabbed him. She heaved out a sigh as she tossed him behind her.

He was, surprisingly, quite heavy. But, she was a strong texan.

The still-staggered Dante didn't react in time when Tina proceeded to unleash three, pounding, fierce-fists at his face.  
In a blinding instant, the first one dazed him.  
The second punch saw her hit even harder.  
Spinning on her heels in a circle, she gave her next box even more momentum.

Her aim was good, Tina struck him so hard he fell on one knee.

"Ooh. . . That was nasty." As Dante said this, blood poured onto the mat from his nose.

'Darn it, not as durable as I used to be.' He thought about the decline of his physical resistance. At least it didn't hurt.  
Maybe, because he hadn't actually been injured in a while, his body just needed to relearn the sensation. Could be, he knew he was different than the man he was five years prior.  
Damn it, this broad was really something. Right to his jawline, right to his cheek, and then right into to his nose; a one, two, three knockout on anyone else.

Then again, he wasn't 'anyone else.'

"That's how we fight in the south, hon." She scorned.

He got to his feet and realized that not only was she much stronger than an average human, she had the skill to back it up too.  
It didn't matter though, just because his human form bled, it didn't mean he was feeling pressure. He dragged more of a gleam out of her.  
The simple idea that he could even still move floored just as much as what he said next.

"You've been brawling all your life, haven't you? It's written over your face, like mine. Ya live for this feeling." Dante said.

She looked at him, wondering why he was talking in the middle of the bout.  
Was he looking for a beatdown? The words he said rung in her mind though, so she stopped.

He looked at her, a look of patience drawn on.

"Well, I can promise you this, once this is over, I'm getting cable so I can watch you fight. Anything to see more skimpy outfits, right?"

She laughed, not even thinking why.

"Flirting even in the fight, huh? Tell you what, if you last longer than I thought, I'll give you a kiss on the cheek fer a good try."

Finding even her ego was appealing to him, he thought he'd up the ante.

"If I beat you, I get to take you out on a date." He said.

Tina was tongue-tied for a second, "Wha-he. . . Aha ha, a date you say?" She stroked her flawless chin, "All right, but _only_ if you beat me!"

He responded with a closed smile.

"Trust me, I think I can." He said.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

All future updates have been moved to the Manifest. Bit of a weird idea, i know, but it's the way i've chosen to organize the stories.  
So there'll be no more notes at the bottom or top, save for chapter 1.

Anyways, reviews are appreciated. Thanks for reading!


	4. Do The Right Thing

**-Once again in Edgemere-**

* * *

Dante let out a grunt of pain as he received a powerful knee to his gut. He stood his ground, retained his footing. Catching a follow up elbow, he punched Tina in the jaw.

The man held back a considerable amount of strength but she was not as affected as he hoped she would be.  
She countered with a neck jab followed by two subsequent kicks to his chest. He felt his blood boil.

"More resilient than I thought!" He muttered before turning to rush her.

He attempted a sweeping haymaker, missing, but followed this up with a spun kick to her core when she'd dodged.

Preparing for another counter, he knocked her rebuttals down in lightning succession, then struck with a harsh palm to her chest.

She had a delayed reaction.

Her chest contorted in on itself before flying into the ring barrier. Amazingly, the fighter got up and continued to attack him.

Tina was unlike any human he'd ever faced before. She was quick, agile, durable and strong.

"You gotta have more than that, son!" She exclaimed as she punted him in the side, then elbowed him in the opposite side of his face.

Dante had become more annoyed than anything else. He was actively being thwarted at every move. Stumbling backward from her kick, he was, yet again forced to hold his ground against her.  
This time, using much less restraint, he caught her follow-up punch and hauled her forward, then around in a circle, as he used her own momentum to throw her several feet away.

She landed brazenly. Somehow, she stood back up, and actually _ran_ towards him, delivering a flying missile-dropkick.

The bottoms of her boots crashed into his face.

But there was a problem. It was her finisher, usually. It floored anyone. That put her _father_ down for the count once.

And yet, he was unmoved by this, instead only flinching. The bell quickly rolled and gracefully rose to her feet.

"Well that's new. Nobody keeps standing after that! What's yer secret!-?" She belted out at him as she went for his mid-section. It was another of her trademark kicks.

Quick but brutal: Swift but damaging.

The slayer caught her leg in a trap. He pushed it up to her chest and closed any distance between them temporarily.

To where they were face to face.

He grabbed the small of her back and dragged her towards himself, taking three giant steps back.

Much to his chagrin, she managed to hop forward a little bit, preventing any overextension.

Using her thickened arms, she placed pressure on his shoulders, shoving her hands on them.  
Next, she bent her knee over his shoulder as well, and exerted all the strength in that luscious mechanism she called a hip.  
This was impossible, no mortal could compete with the strength of a devil. But he liked her. A bit . . . too much.

The adrenaline of the battle, combined with her fantastic assets set off a humanistic reaction inside him. He felt it coming on strong.

At least his pants were baggy enough that it wouldn't show but he knew with her this close she'd feel _some_ thing that wasn't supposed to be there.

He allowed her a small moment of victory, preventing his shame from being revealed to her, but also breaking up the rather tedious exchange. She wouldn't break his hold like that anyway.  
He released his iron grasp and she did something he didn't expect.

The foot that was still planted on the ground came up to his chest in a defiant, acrobatic severance.

Surprised, he hobbled an inch or so before regaining composure.

One of the three-inch heels dug into his chest in the process. A small bit of blood seeped out before the wound closed itself.

It didn't hurt, but damn, was that annoying.

Tina wasn't a particularly artful performer. She sailed for a bit, disproportionately much more so than her opponent's reaction, and landed on her back.  
It was a bit unwise to have so much of her energy in the move. Still, even though his attacks hurt her, she had to remain intimidating.  
She was playing a psychological game with him. Most wrestlers learn to do this in training. Ignoring pain was a great way to stay dominant against someone who had the upper-hand.

It made em' think twice.

It was a more agile move than her body type was able to take. So it was especially taxing. Nevertheless, she righted herself and felt much better.

She decided to stop and rest for a second but just managed to counter a high punch from Dante, front kicking him in retaliation.

Again, the man showed much greater resistance this time.

She took note of the difference, as it felt as though she was hitting a boulder when her foot landed on his abs.

Tina continued on the attack, however, and executed a spirited uppercut. Afterward, she brought both her clenched fists down and slammed him into the ground.  
While still on the mat, she quickly went over to his waist and seized her arms around, using his belt as a grip. Forcibly heaving him off the ground, the southerner used all of her great strength at once.  
It was for the execution of the Texas Driver on him, requiring her to flip the opponent upside down.

When he was completely turned, she jumped two feet forward off the ground and brought the top of his head slamming to the floor, damn near breaking his neck.

Tina was confident that this was her finishing move.

When used correctly, it gave the impression of a neck injury and so was often only employed during a storyline that needed to send a fellow wrestler out of commission.  
Since that variation was faked, no injury was usually received. It would be catastrophic to botch that, but her dad taught her well.

This was a special situation.

Nothing else legitimate worked, why not a purposeful mistake for a fake move? How unethical that it took a potential broken neck to win.  
She questioned what she'd just done for a second.  
Never mind, the man took her dropkick like nothing, so this too would be just a concussion . . . probably.

She got to her feet and raised her hands up to the crowd, facing away from Dante. She was tired but glad.

"How do y'all like them apples!-?" she yelled ecstatically to the crowd. They were rife with applause, even those who'd secretly wanted the hunter to win.

She was happy over her win. It was just a short time, then she could face Dad.

The victory was cut short when, suddenly, an agitated voice spoke up behind her, "Don't get so worked up, sweetheart. Stuff like that don't put me down. It was a _really_ great try though."

The handsome devil stood to his feet and the crowd went wild with anticipation.  
They hadn't seen a dramatic, almost cinematic fight in a long while.  
It helped that the action was a clear cut above the usual.  
A thought occurred to her that this man really didn't feel like a usual human.

It was hard to describe. Maybe her exceptional, physical talent enabled her to feel things normal people didn't but . . .

He was just different.

"What!-? But I beat you!" She said, almost whining like a child but in a deeper sheen.

"Ah, that's what you get for assuming. And where was my kiss anyway?"

She became frustrated as the two assumed their stances. Tina could detect that there was something changed about his eyes. They hadn't altered color, but were stark; cold.  
Almost as if the equally warm, blue of his eyes had been ripped away and replaced by a violent red hatred.

They started again. When she welted at him, he intercepted her blow effortlessly, and yanked her once more by her right wrist. This time, however, he twisted her arm around her back,  
then punched her rib cage.

What she knew had to be a fist felt like a silent cannonball.

She gasped, the air feeling rough against her throat as it passed through her esophagus. A simultaneous crunch sounded off.

For her, she couldn't tell if the ribs had broken or if they simply fractured.

Dante lightly snapped a kick her way, striking an unaffected portion of her back. The siren was hurled away. She fell down on her face.  
Struggling to get up, she found that she was at least still able to fight.  
'Just a small fracture' she thought to herself.

'Where did that kind of strength come from?' She continued, absolutely bewildered as to how her enemy could even move after that devastating finisher.

The slayer moved at her. She struck a defensive pose with her arms but was shocked when she saw him go. He was moving faster than anyone she'd seen; like a bullet.  
He shifted behind her, seemingly leaving a scarcely tangible, maroon trail behind him.  
Twisting around, she felt the sensation of a slap in the face, though it was expressed like someone hit her with a _fucking pipe_.

Dante had slapped her down hard, but shot her up with a knee to the gut. He held back more on this one as he didn't want to inflict anymore rib damage.

That kind of injury just sucks.

Jabbing her in the face three times with his right paw, he subsequently struck her stomach with a left before entering a 360 degree turn and smacking her across the cheek.  
The woman's head jerked back from the harsh hit.  
Before falling onto the ground, he caught her by that same arm he'd pulled on prior, and redirected the velocity of the fall.

Lugging her forward past him again, the man swatted the base of her neck with his opposite hand. She slammed face-first into the mat.

There was a deep muscular pain that suddenly afflicted her whole shoulder and she realized, much to her dismay, that it had been dislocated.

Somehow, this wasn't enough. She still pulled herself from the ground, feeling nauseous.

'What happened?' She thought as she pondered how she had gone from holding the advantage, just a few minutes prior, to being heavily injured by the same man. Then it struck her.

She noticed that many of the wounds, in fact, _all_ of the wounds she had given Dante earlier on, such as his bloody nose, a few cuts, and some bruises, had all but vanished!

He looked completely untouched. Her put-out arm felt numb. She fought against her own body to keep herself level.

Scanning her desperate eyes, Dante moved in for the metaphorical kill. When he did, she tensed up and felt something rupture. Slowly, he strolled towards her, violence in his face.  
The man held his fist up in the air as he prepared to bring it down on her head.

However, he hesitated.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, on the skyscraper's rooftop-**

* * *

"You know, this is quite the show. I don't really get why you've such a problem with what I've done. He's proving himself more than capable if he can handle a woman like her."  
Christie spoke into her work phone as she laid her legs across a couch and crossed them lazily.

Her legs were about as close as you could get to perfection, not too beefy as to be unappealing, but not really skinny either.  
She was always very proud of their shape, and worked hard to keep them looking as best as possible.

Now, Edgemere rooftops have a typical setup. Usually, they consist of chain-link fences with additional guard rails, cleanly defined as walls all around the perimeter of the roof.  
Other items sometimes included furniture or home-made batteries for television and some industrial lamps.

On this one, there was an LED 4k hooked up into one of two batteries. Black carpet that was routinely cleaned was upholstered nicely in order to allow walking without shoes.  
Fancy, energy-efficient lights were rigged up to enable a somewhat cozy atmosphere, as was the presence of fan-heaters and a few differently colored futons in addition to the couch she was sitting on.

A clearly angry man was heard on the other end, "I don't care if he 'proves himself,' you know just as well as I do, I want the head of DOATEC put down for good. Hiring some white haired goon  
to do it for you wasn't what I had in mind!"

Christie was highly amused by his anger. "Darling, you forget why I brought him in on this op. If he kills them, there isn't any evidence that will tie MIST to this."

"Yes, thank you for the analysis Ms. . . . What's your last name again?" The voice asked.

A rather dismissive Christie stated, "Six long years later and this is what loyalty buys you . . . Its just Christie."

"Right, I forget with you assassins that it's always a given name. An alias I presume?" The man on the other end was rather equally condescending in tone as his employee.

"What else?" An annoyed assassin asked.

"Right. I don't care if he has no ties to us. He's getting sidetracked! Helena and Bayman are planning something and they need to die now. I'm tired of their existence being a nuisance to our plans. DOATEC's reach is great; this can't be allowed to continue." The man on the other end continued.

Honestly, she was bored talking to him. It was too preoccupying to watch Dante and Tina's fight. She wondered if he knew that it was even being broadcast.

"Yes, yes. I understand. But can't I have just a little bit of fun? He's undoubtedly . . . skilled. He's so much fun to play with." She said in response to the man's rant.

"Wait, whoa, whoa . . . Back it up here. Did you sleep with him!-?" The man's voice became higher pitched, and immediately, there was an added tone of jealousy to his outrage.

Christie smiled to herself. She knew she got a rise out of him.

"Does it bother you that I fucked another man? Trust me when I say this; he's absolutely going to complete the task I gave him." A dirty smile creeped on her face as she said this,  
remembering the things they did to each other. She bit a part of her lower lip, moving her free hand down to her curvy thigh.

The garb was smooth, it still smelled of _him_.

" . . . I want you to be there whenever he does anything. Tail him, stalk him, help him: I don't really care. If he steps out of line, kill him." The man said sternly and without emotion.

"Ooh, but Rig, I want to come back and relax. I already killed the chinaman you asked me to dispose of. Honestly, I think I can sit this out just once, can't I?" She said in a warm, sweet tone.  
But Rig remained firm.

"No. You wanted to bring this man in on it, then it's your problem. I won't accept this 'expense' any other way." There was no compassion. The affair angered him so.

"Since when do you care whether or not an asset is more trouble than it's worth?" She asked, frustrated by Rig's unmoving viewpoint.

"Since you started fucking them." He spoke, a smoldering fury lining the back of his throat.

She heard a click, then the phone beeped twice in her ear that he'd hung up.

It was a bit unnerving, he'd never been so angry. Childish? Sure. Never spiteful . . . Not towards her anyway. Christie compounded her punishment with acceptance.

"Guess I've been a bad girl." She said, moving her fingers along the edge of her tight black dress. Her palms touched the quivering inner-thigh with delight.

The next step was right up in the center.

* * *

 **-Ryu's meditation area-**

* * *

There were scorch marks all around. The smell of iron was potent in the air.

Trees had tumbled over due to being cleaved through by swords, and the surrounding rocks and stumps on the ground were all cut finely accurate.

There was so much blood.

Severed limbs were strewn about like fallen leaves, some attached to still standing forest or rock faces thanks to Kunais or arrows.  
The bodies laid anywhere, some fallen over stumps, others hanging from ropes on timber.

They were all ninja from various clans.

The man in black stood as the sole survivor of the massacre, lacking any marks on himself. He was not wearing his helmet, only the mask that covered his mouth, and was dressed in significantly different clothing than his attire from years before. His outfit consisted of a sleeveless, black ninja gi on top of a white short sleeved shirt. He had dark gray, baggy shinobi pants with numerous faded,  
barely visible blood stains. Wrapped around his right leg was a dark colored strap with two holsters for Kunai (Japanese daggers).

Both slots were fed, and his boots were those of the Acolyte set, dark brown. Black tabi shoes were visible and Ryu also wore a black, faded out hermit's coat on top.  
It had a hood that was down and fraying at all edges. Short sleeved, the jacket came down just below the white of his undershirt, at the tail of his biceps, and displayed having one button-up pocket on both shoulders.

The coat-tail itself hung down above his knees and it also had low lapels on it's front. He wore his old gauntlets (from the Ninja Gaiden II era). The white trim had since faded to grey.

"There is nothing I can say . . . I'm sorry. There isn't even enough time to give a proper burial to you all. I knew some of you . . ." Ryu shed a solitary tear.

Regaining his master composure, Ryu held his right index and middle fingers together in front of his face, straight skyward.  
There was a flash of his dark blue aura, and he'd teleported himself to his home under the waterfall, in the grotto.  
He quickly grabbed what he needed and then set the small empty home alight using a weakened version of Art of the Inferno. It was amazing what he'd mastered since the times before.  
Quickly leaving the hollow, he traveled along the water's edge at superhuman speeds. Reaching the shore, he stopped. There was a sense of danger. No, that was not the way to go.  
In a matter of moments, the shinobi instead scaled the natural, rocky-terrain wall, fast as a panther. He ran in a straight line, then jumped up onto the apex, beside the flowing river.

Reabsorbing the topography of the landscape, the unconventionally-dressed ninja saw an old pathway again, but knew it was a trap.  
Alternatively, he used the transport technique again to flicker over to the end of the passage. Finding himself at a crossroads, he suddenly heard a flock of birds become disturbed.

Instinctively, Ryu scanned his environment and, readying himself, grasped the hilt of his dragon sword.

"How many has that blade taken now?" a female voice rang out. He sensed a new presence hiding in the trees.

The man turned and shot a Cryokinetic blast, temporarily freezing them. A figure had jumped out before it hit. Soaring above, the figure gracefully twirled several times mid air and landed on its feet. Looking up, the female had brown hair and peculiar, amber eyes. Her hair strummed in a Japanese pony tale and only the bangs hung down, albeit to the side of her forehead.  
The woman's face was immaculate, beautiful. She was dressed in a black and blue outfit (her get up from NG3:RE) and wielded her wakizashi.

"What are you doing here?" Ryu calmly asked.

"I'm keeping you safe." She said. Kasumi was still a rogue, much like Ryu had become.

Their relationship had become eminently tense. She was now 25 years old and had experienced an extra growth spurt shortly after the events of the fifth tournament. Her stats had grown to 5'5", 124 lbs. and her formerly childlike face had become devoid of the happier teenager she had once been. The peppiness she'd had fell away and was replaced by a serious demeanor.  
With this, her innocent features also became mature. She was lost for a time.

"And what exactly does that mean?" He asked her. At 31, his and Kasumi's age gap was no longer a pressing issue, but the two felt it important to keep their respect for each other intact.

"It means I'm here to ask you for help." She stated flatly.

"Yeah? I'm a little busy at the moment." He said in his typically low-pitched, smooth voice. He didn't understand why she had come to him for help. Him, of all people.  
At this point, it would've been safer to have gone back her old clan than to speak with Ryu.

"I know, but you know that I wouldn't come to you, being hunted like this, if it wasn't urgent."

There was long silence.

"What do you need, old friend?" The enthusiasm was fake, but she'd take it. Kasumi briefly smiled, during which Ryu saw a glimpse of her former self.

"Thank you. DOATEC and MIST have been battling with each other for years now. But, I think something's happening. It's bigger.  
I've been observing both sides and there's been something unusual going on, especially today. I suspect they're all planning something, the ramifications of which may be immense." She said.

Ryu appeared confused, "MIST is still active? I thought you and the others would have stamped them out after what happened six years ago."

She was rather aggravated by the man's lack of knowledge about recent events.

"We would have, but once MIST went into hiding, they released a back up plan. It was a lethal virus that fed on the cells of a person and produced ki as a byproduct." She explained

Ryu was suddenly taken back to the night of his infection. After fleeing, he hid himself in exile out of guilt over what he'd done, in the process shutting out all communication.  
He remembered that he never really did find out what infected him, only that he cured himself. A crushing sense of shame overcame him, drooping his shoulders down.

Yet again, he struggled to maintain his usual stone face.

"This virus, it must have been the same one that came to the Mugen Tenshin village." Ryu said.

"Yes, it savaged the clan, but luckily, many were saved thanks to Ayane. She discovered that using Art of Divine Life in combination with a cocktail of Antibiotics, Probiotics, and Special Herbs could treat the virus. She administered this process to everyone she could, even Hayate for good measure." Both of them shifted uncomfortably at the mention of their names.  
The elder warrior recalled the betrayal, whilst his younger friend remembered her own experiences.

"So, if the virus was cured, how come MIST wasn't dealt with?" Ryu asked in an attempt to get back on track, conversation wise.

"They were. But we lost. It turned out that the virus was just a distraction from their real objective. They built themselves up by allying themselves with other militia and terrorist groups.  
When the time was right, they struck and we tried our best. The clan even made peace with me for my help, but in the end, they outnumbered us. We were forced to retreat."

She continued on, "Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, I was exiled _again_ when brother blamed me for our failure. After that, the clan and DOATEC had a falling out. He claimed that they weren't supportive enough during this time of strife, and called it 'the final betrayal.' MIST took advantage again and unleashed their next phase.  
Using aspects of project epsilon, they cloned numerous fighters, using leftover data of me to program them with 'superior' moves. American media called them the Alphas and that name quickly stuck:  
The irony . . ." She looked depressed at this.

Ryu noticed her body-language, but remained silent. He didn't really know how to be there for another person anymore. Intending to listen and learn, he asked, "What happened next?"

She chuckled. "Ha, MIST- . . . Rig unleashed the 'Alphas' on society. They acted as biological terrorists, using my ninjutsu to cleave through anyone who opposed them.  
'The clone controversy,' it was called, or so I'm told. MIST released a video claiming sovereignty over their 'nation,' if that is what you could call it. It's just a large, isolated island.  
They refused to be ignored and threatened to keep sending clones if they did not receive admittance into the UN as an official country: Alexandria.  
Needless to say, they did it again . . . and again. After around 250,000 deaths, the UN relented. Then, Rig consolidated the organization's power, spreading it out and crafting it into a global powerhouse.  
With DOATEC too weak, my old clan after me again, and MIST seeking to eliminate us all, the only safe place right now is the U.S.."

"I see. So, they're untouchable now? What have you got planned, Kasumi?" Ryu asked.

"Come with me to the States. If we can re-establish a connection to DOATEC, we might be able to take them on and get rid of Donovan's influence for good. How about it? Finish what we started."  
She was just happy to be near a friend again. The man noticed that she had tightened up her English, Americanizing her speech a great deal more, to the point where she now sounded similar to him.

With a stroke of pride over how much the kunoichi had grown, he looked at her and said, "Well, why not? Exile is boring anyway."

* * *

 **-DOATEC HQ- Earlier in the day**

* * *

Helena had become happy. After years of bad luck and frustration, Bayman arrives with a plan.

"So, this sixth tournament would be a diversion?" She asked, her signature French accent permeating every syllable.

"Exactly. The primary goal would be finding the banks where MIST keeps its off shore accounts, and then robbing them blind. It's rather simple. We get them preoccupied with a national tournament  
and they become distracted, just like they did to everyone with the Heikki virus. After we clean them out, we'll take down their new Epsilon compound; I've got men on reconnaissance mission right now. We're positive that the results will be promising. If we can take out their clones, we'll hit them hard. They comprise a good bulk of their army.  
It might even the playing field, but we wouldn't have much time to do it." Bayman said.

Helena remarked, "Ah, risky business is always exciting."

"Risky? Yes. Is it worth a try? Definitely." Bayman responded. She smiled. Though she knew the chances were slim, at least they were real. Before, Helena would have thought that any day now,  
Rig would come crashing through their door and gun her down. Now she believed that it was possible to tip the scale back in their favor.

Suddenly, the door to their office opened, and Kokoro rushed in with Helena's ordered drink.

"Here you are, Miss Douglas. Is there anything else you need?" The young girl was so eager to please.

She responded, "No thank you. Now please. Sit."

Kokoro shyly sat down in a chair opposite Helena on the other side of her desk.

"So, uh . . . w-what did you want to speak to me about?" Kokoro croaked in the middle of her sentence.

She was very nervous about what the boss wanted to discuss, even though the woman had already reaffirmed for her that she was not getting fired.

'What could it be?' She frantically thought. Maybe she wanted to speak about something familial. Well that didn't really make sense considering Bayman stayed in the room.  
Maybe she _**was**_ getting fired and Helena simply lied to spare her feelings.

Tension continued to mount until finally, she stated, "Kokoro, I wanted to talk to you about your future here."

'Darn it!' she thought, 'I was right!'

"Recently, I've been thinking that maybe I'm ready to try stepping down from CEO of DOATEC." Miss Douglas stated.

"W-What?" Kokoro stuttered.

"What!-?" Bayman said in greater shock.

Helena explained, "I believe that I have not run this company as well as I should have. My pride kept me blinded from truth. I just don't want to do this anymore."

"But . . . you saved us from bankruptcy. You've made us stronger and better than we've ever been before! You're just going to leave that?"  
Kokoro was complete confusion, cantankerously scratching her arm; her hair was too pretty to mess up.

The russian remained silent. He couldn't believe that after the conversation they just had, she would tell him this now.

"Ah, sweet girl. I'm afraid that despite my efforts, DOATEC is only breaking even right now. You weren't around back when this company was at it's strongest.  
But alas, I simply cannot take us back to that point. That's why I've called you in. I want _you_ to be my replacement." Helena was dead serious.

She could see Kokoro had matured. No longer was she simply an innocent child. She had become a stronger, young, dependable woman while retaining femininity. She recognized her great potential.

"I would stay to train you, of course. But you would be handling all of my responsibilities." She said.

Silence continued till the young Japanese woman finally mustered the courage to speak.

"Wow, I-I don't know what to say." She sputtered. "Are you really sure you want to hand over everything to me?"

"My dear, I believe this is the right thing to do. And what better way to end my run than with the sixth annual Dead or Alive Tournament?" Helena said. At these words, her protégé struck a confused look.

"A sixth one?" she inquired, "How would that work?"

While they were continuing, Kasumi, who had listened from the other room, jetted through the window.

'A sixth tournament? They must be up to something. So much for a special visit. MIST is also gonna roll out something soon. Interesting. Time to make some plans of my own.'  
Whilst flying through the air down to the ground outside, she disappeared, leaving only a swirl of flower petals behind.

* * *

 **-Edgemere, the sports event-**

* * *

"Too slow!" Tina yelled as she roundhouse kicked a hesitant Dante in the face. This did nothing. Like a slap.

"What are you?" she said as she popped her arm back in painfully.

He didn't react. The humor was gone. Instead, he only beckoned her to attack again and she punctually obliged. Sprinting to him, she lunged with her other arm,  
but he once more parried this attack, grabbing and pulling her uninjured arm down. He then moved it behind her back. He promptly then shoved his entire body forward, shooting her several feet away. She hit the floor hard, much harder than before. Refusing to stay down, the wrestler picked herself up off the ground.

"How many times have you hit this floor, and yet you keep gettin' back up?" Dante facetiously said to her as she, yet again, refused to go down.

"I could say . . . the same to you . . . sweetheart!" Tina was huffing and puffing. She was adamant about continuing to fight. Not a chance would she lose to some guy who wouldn't even wear proper gear.

"I hate to say it, but it looks like you bit off more than you can chew, babe." He quipped.

The blonde diva was not laughing.

"At least I'm gonna go out with dignity, I fought ya to the last draw. You? Yer just some jerk who beat on a helpless woman." She had a point. Dante did feel bad, but he had to win.  
There was no legitimate way he was going to lose to her now anyway.

"Sorry kid. I can't lose now. I do feel bad, don't get me wrong but you win some, you lose some. I fail to see the logic here."

"Whatever. Have fun with my dad." Tina said, looking away from him.

Truth be told, he felt very bad.

He couldn't beat her like this. What she was going through was humiliating. How could he be so callous? He always stressed that his humanity was important above all else.  
He wondered if he hadn't beaten her up, could something have happened between the two at some point? It was silly of him to think all these thoughts seconds before he would claim victory.  
But a certain part of his soul simply called out to her.

'Ah hell. What am I doing? I can get the info from Zack, he didn't want me to fight her anyway.'

She rallied her last will together and charged at him. Using her good arm to attack first, she then attempted several kicks, even making weak attempts to use her disjointed limb.  
In spite of putting it back into place, it hurt like holy hell.  
Dante, however, refused to strike back. He instead dodged and deflected the attempts, largely ignoring any taunts from her.

"What's wrong with you? You said ya can't lose. So why won't you put me down and out, huh? Finish yer job!" She threw a punch but he didn't block or deflect it.

"What the hell ails you!-? Fight like a man!" She hit him again. This time, he caught her fist and placed her arm in a hold.  
Pulling her in close, she attempted to elbow his neck, but he blocked this too and dragged the limb away, then down behind her back. Now face-to-face, she kneed him.

He had no pain, it seemed.

" _What are you!-?_ " She yelled again.

"I think I'm crazy."

He let go his ambitions, his cares in the world. All that mattered in that moment were the two of them. And with that, the match ended. All animosity fluttered away.

When she finally took her lips away from his, she just melted in his arms.

"Well how bout that, I think I am too." She said.

* * *

 **To be continued.**

* * *

I take exception to these notes because of the things that they explain.  
That is all.

* * *

So, some things to note.

Kasumi is wearing her NG3: Razor's Edge attire, Ryu's boots are taken from a beginner's set in NG3's online mode, and this was written before i'd come up with a few concepts later on.

I'm so happy that i got to update this because of all the continuity problems. It was just a mess.  
Here, i tightened things up, one of the worst things about the old version was the persistent overuse of names in place of pronoun's and a lack of apostrophe's.  
It was a good reminder of what I usually point out as a flaw in a review. Thankfully, the problems have been remedied for the most part.

I'd appreciate feedback.  
How do you think the updates affect your understanding? What do you think needs improving upon? Generic shit like that.

Anyway, thank you for reading, as always.


	5. It's a Father-Daughter Thing

**-Edgemere sports venue-**

* * *

 **"Oh-! Oh dear . . . Uh, well . . . ladies and gentlemen, Dante has forfeited, meaning . . . the winner is . . . Tina Armstrong!"** The announcer spoke through bloodied spits.  
He had woken up some time during the latter portion of the fight and was bewildered as to what was going on.  
It was also infuriating that he had lost some teeth from her kick. The poor man had searched around and picked up what he could.

Maintaining an air of proffesionalism, or perhaps, more realistically succumbing to a concussion, the man tightened his clothes and continued providing commentary.

Silence had swept over the arena. Not many fans knew what to make of it. While she was enthralled with him, he'd given a sign with his hand, alerting whoever was watching that he'd forfeited.  
Tina herself felt revitalized. Suddenly, the pain in her joint lessened. Strange.  
She never really gave much thought to having a boyfriend because she always was so focused on her career. Time and time again, whenever she would attempt to get out of wrestling,  
her father forced her back in. This prevented her from even enjoying the sport.

Over the years, it became the cause of a great deal of resentment between them.

The crowd suddenly erupted into disarray. Many were taken by the drama that had unfolded and were cheering. These were wrestling fans, who felt it an awesome storyline.

Others had come for serious MMA or boxing. They felt that the ending to the match was anti-climactic, and didn't understand why the two had kissed instead, so they vigorously booed.  
They'd expected blood. Oh, there was plenty of that on the mat from Dante's previous bouts.  
But they didn't like the almost scripted nature of the exhibition. They wanted something hardcore, less predictable.

Well, it would be hard to explain, but no, it was _not_ faked nor part of a storyline.

 **"My, my. It seems that the crowd certainly is mixed on this outcome. You two!"** The announcer said as he walked back on to the stage to join them.

It took him a second to get through the ropes, struggling to keep hold of his handkerchief.

 **"Excuse me! I think everyone is wanting to know, why did you forfeit in spite of clearly having the upper hand?"** He asked the silver slayer.

"Why did you let her knock your teeth in?" Dante said.

 **"Giuh-Uh, um . . . d- right. Well! S-so how do you . . . How do you plan on beating your father with your injuries?"** The announcer stumbled to say.

"A good friend an' some pain killers, honey." Tina sarcastically stated.

Dante chose to remain silent. In the process, his eye's shifted back. He wanted to get away, find Zack, and just get the job done.

 **"Well, I'm sure we can expect a soulful performance from Miss Armstrong tonight! Her father may just have to wait a little while!"** the presenter continued enthusiastically.  
They walked off the ring together, but the slayer chose to keep her at arm's distance. She didn't mind it. It'd be a good thing to decompress; did they even really like each other?

Running over, a panicked Zack stopped them.

"Oh god, oh man. Oh god, oh man; oh god, OH MAN- _OH GOD_ _!_ " He kept chanting, getting louder with each successive 'oh god!'

"Zack, what's up?" His snowy client asked calmly.

"GAH! _Whyyyyyy_ did you do that!-? You could have just beaten her . . . Then you'd at least have a chance! But no! Noooo-, no. You had to go make it _personal_. Stupid, stupid, stupid . . ." Zack rambled.

"Hey! Snap out of it. What's wrong?" Dante inquired.

"What's wrong!-? You kissed his daughter!" He yelled in response.

"Yeah, so-" the man did not get a chance to finish that sentence.

From behind the self-professed manager, a colossal, very angry southern man came charging at Dante and cluthced him by the neck. Immediately pulled off his feet, he was thrust upwards.  
The hulk of a man forcibly tossed him back into the ring and then jumped in too.

"YA THINK YOU CAN KISS MY TINA AGAINST HER WILL AND GET AWAY WITH IT!-? I'LL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM FUCKIN' LIMB, BOY!" The immense male bellowed.

" **AAH-!** **Well! It seems that the be-all, end-all champion Bass Armstrong has more than a few things to say to Mister Dante about that kiss!** " The distinctive presenter spoke.  
He sounded a bit like Gene Okerlund.  
Just as he did so, Armstrong angrily kicked him in the face, sending the poor commentator out of the physical ring and sailing over in front of the other ringside announcers.

"OH MY GOD! HERE HE IS! ITS BASS- IT'S BASS! Just when he seems set to get away with the girl, Dante has been taken by storm by the former champ Bass Armstrong." One of two commentators said of the entrance. The display of strength against the in-ring presenter was also marveled at. While one was over-excitable, the other maintained a kind of villainous approach.

* * *

 **-Edgemere rooftop-**

* * *

Simultaneously from the rooftop, Christie continued to watch.

"That was unexpected." She said with wild excitement. The slayer made her hot. She breathed heavily and smiled.

* * *

 **-Edgemere sports venue-**

* * *

"Daddy, no! Stop! It was just a kiss. Daddy!" Tina pleaded with her father to stop.

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! I WILL NOT LET YOU TAKE ADVANTAGE OF MAH DAWGHTER YOU HOOLIGAN!" Bass said in enragement.  
He was wearing his usual cowboy get up, with blue pants, brown chaps, a white button up shirt and brown gauntlets. He looked like a silverback ape drenched in wild west hysteria.

The raging beast of a man had been watching the match from his dressing room backstage.

Having had enough when his daughter was 'taken advantage of,' he destroyed his lavish amenities in a tormented fit of rage. Zooming across the long hallways, he broke down numerous doors,  
sometimes blasting them several feet away. The man was so angry that he recklessly elbowed people aside, grievously injuring them in the process.

Eventually, he outright demolished several booths as he charged forward.

When he had reached the infernal attacker of his beloved 'dawghter,' Bass launched Zack out of his way, so far that he flew into the audience, creating an intense stir of chaos.

Dante knew the man would be strong, so he just let go of his restraints. He flipped himself midair, and altered his trajectory.  
Placing one hand forward, the man compressed his wrist while pushing off the mat and used his momentum to right himself, floating two feet back for a moment before landing gracefully on his feet.

Consequent to crashing, the force of energy his body still carried caused some minor muscle tears and his wrist simply break under his own weight.

And yet, despite clearly hearing something snap inside his wrist, Dante felt zero pain.

His wounds quickly healed themselves, forcibly busting his carpal joint back together in proper placement. The only visible damage left was a bruise on his neck.

He displayed great annoyance at it's slower healing by comparison to his other injuries.

"Son of a-. . . Yeah! I hear ya! So, by the anger and the accent, you must be that Amir-string guy, right?" He presumed.

"It's Armstrong, yella' bastard!" He said, now having decided to stop booming his incredible vocal chords. The man's veins could still be seen pulsating around his muscles.

"Well 'Armstrong-yellow-bastard,' I was in a good mood. I was gonna get back on that dusty trail, maybe grab a slice of pizza, and just cruise on.  
But, seeing as how you just thrashed me into the ring like your ex-wife, I'm really, _really_ livid right now!" As he said this, his eyes returned to becoming a disturbed, hatred-filled aura.

In the process, the abrasion on his neck finally healed up.

Bass noticed it and was slightly unnerved, however he resumed his raging without giving it a second thought.

Tina barely witnessed this display of power yet again and became perturbed. What exactly was Dante capable of?

"Why you . . . How _dare_ you! Mah wife is dead!" The southerner screamed at him in his gruff timber. He propelled himself towards the hunter again. However, what came next was unexpected.

Dante instantly squared back a fist and hit the approaching mad man in his stomach.

The punch sent Armstrong hurling backwards a few feet onto his gut. Bass was raised tough, as much as he needed to look good, he had to be that tough too. His daughter was given the same upbringing. He pushed off the ground with his mountainous arms, and quickly was back on his feet, arming up for another assault.

"You expect that puny thing to stop me, brother!-? You ain't got the python's needed for that kind of strength!" The crowd cheered for him.

He stomped forth, this time screaming a battle cry.

Dante darted to the left and then forward as he evaded Bass, but the brawny American was wise to his movements and changed directions on anticipation of the man's speed.  
He grabbed the smaller man and executed a big bear slam, jabbing his mouth with his left hand, clasping his throat with his right, gripping his torso with the other, and then physically lifting him up off his feet in order to catapult him back down on his back.

Slamming down, the younger man hit the ground hard but rolled back onto one knee, preparing to stand.

Quickly, however, he was ambushed by a fast, heavy slug to the face, then a knee to his core, followed finally by a downward sloping smash that knocked him back into the ground.

His face hit the floor, audibly grunting when it did.

Bass stamped down on the back of the slayer's head. Doing so three times, he grabbed him again to put him on his feet.

He temporarily broke from this by knocking one of Armstrong's hands away with an aggressive forearm. Having grabbed onto the man's coat, the counter slightly frayed his coat's left lapel in the process.

The blue-eyed man struck the wrestler in the face with restrained knuckles, but his taller opponent didn't break away.

Instead, he proceeded to kick Dante in his inner right thigh with his left boot. Subsequently, he kicked him again in the chest with his opposite.

The slayer staggered backwards in response but the bear grabbed his left arm and yanked him back in again for a heel to the knee, then a palm, rising upwards into his jaw,  
followed by a forward Kenka Kick that sent him flying into the ring barrier.  
This move essentially was a full-bodied front kick, with his leg launching out to it's full length.

Southernly pursuing him, Bass recklessly swung at him. He took advantage of the unfocused assault to place the wrestler's arm inside an MMA hold.  
When he tried moving, Dante surprisingly held him locked in position.

"Okay, I've had enough." He said as he head-butted Armstrong.

Daringly, he drove his knee into Bass' stomach and his elbow vertically into his chin, jerking the enemy head back.

The brutish joe faltered in pain. Dante lunged into a flying dragon kick at his chest, hurtling away into the middle of the ring.

Apparently, it was a big fucking stage.

The crowd couldn't help themselves from screaming. He was exhausted from the strike but pulled himself up quickly, undeterred by the young man's incredible strength.

"Yer tougher than I thought. I'm still gonna kill ya fer what you did." Bass huffed, taking a small little moment to regain himself.

"Good to know." Dante remarked. They continued fighting.

Trading countless blows over the course of several minutes, the younger of the two often outpaced the other though he tried his best by far. Nevertheless, each time he would punch Armstrong in the face, the wrestler would return in kind with a leg to his chest.

The larger man utilized a trio of surprisingly quick jabs at Dante's mid, moving far faster than any 54 year-old man could.

While he remained stunned for a split second, Bass then proceeded to quickly run in the opposite direction, leaning on the ropes and using it to bounce himself back at greater velocity.  
Jumping at the white-haired man, the move was called a "Flying Body Press" and practically crushed Dante into the stage.

Dust poured from the ceiling beneath as several inches of platform foam and wooden planks deformed and shattered beneath them, respectively.

He rolled off of him and proceeded to plow his elbow down into his chest. The slayer wasn't expecting this and audibly hollered in shock.

While still flat on the ground, the old pro turned on his knees to loom his torso over his opponent. He grappled onto the young man's arms.  
The grizzled man hoisted him up and raised him aloft his head, with his chest facing upwards toward the sky as his body was draped over Armstrong's back.  
Bass then stood to his feet and summoned the energy to run forward to the edge of the ring and jumped inhumanly high.

And they say white men can't jump. He must've gone eight feet in the air.

When he got to the peak, the hulk threw Dante diagonally downwards towards the ringside, using his famous "Spiral Bomb" technique.

He crashed onto the judge's table and destroyed them. They scattered and broke away their focus on the fight, instead getting themselves to safety.

"He goes for the Spiral Bomb and he, wait- OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT! HE'S DESTROYED THE TABLES AND THE FIGHT HAS SPILLED OUT ONTO THE GROUND AND AWAY FROM THE RING!" Commentator 1 said with over-the-top excitement.

"I tell you, that Dino isn't good enough for Tina. Bass is doing the right thing taking that scoundrel to the mat!" Commentator 2 said to Bob.

"I don't agree, John! This fight has just exploded after the big man saw his daughter getting cozy with our newcomer, Dante! I tell ya, it's about time Tina gets out from under Daddy's shadow!"  
Bob continued.

"Well, I think- wait a minute . . . Ouch! Dino got him in with a surprise right cross and now he's going for the- he can't do that- OOH! A DOUBLE SMASH DELUXE!" John said in amazement,  
which was most probably played up for drama.

"It never fails John, never!" Bob finished for him.

"I tell ya, the lengths this man keeps going to disrespect the Armstrong's authority is staggering." John said needlessly, though he felt it important to comment on the family's name.

Dante had rolled backwards off the crushed tables and dodged an attempted slam from Armstrong. He quickly jabbed him in the side and then kicked his left leg out using his right.

Bass fell to one knee and was left open. The man refused to let the bounty hunter win and so put his arms in an impenetrable block.

But Dante was wiser.

He grabbed the wrestlers sweat-drenched bracers and forcibly pried them open. He quickly delivered a surprise right cross, followed by three lightning fast left hooks and a right kick to the jaw.

The wrestler fell over bleeding, clutching his jaw with his left hand.

Dante continued his assault by grabbing Bass and raising him up by the neck, but Armstrong suddenly grabbed the back of his head, and, with his right arm, and slammed his face down to the hard floor. He was shocked, waffling over a few inches before falling to the ground. Despite hemorrhaging, the embittered man was too tough to stop fighting.

After he rolled his body onto his back, Bass kicked and stomped on the hitman's face numerous times.

"Die! Die! Die! Die, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE!" He screamed over and over.

However a hand stopped his foot.

Dante somehow ceased the blows dead with his bare hand, despite having already taken copious damage. Bass applied more power and pressure but to no avail.

"No, no, no. Why? _Why!-?_ _**How!-?**_ " Armstrong outwardly exclaimed. He was almost like a child.

From the ground, he was toppled, then hurled over ten feet away.

Attempting to keep his balance by hopping and placing his dangling foot back on the ground, the older fighter fell back on his rear. It hurt like hell, mostly due to his age and exhaustion.  
Things went hazy for a moment. Sounds blurred out like a muddy bootleg, then faded back in, strangely crisper than it was before.  
Smacking his head down on the mat-less ground caused more trouble for him than usual. When the sound accelerated back into stereo, his eyes shot open and he felt a second wind.  
He struggled to get up. The mind was willing but the body wasn't.

Nevertheless, he went to check his legs for damage. He knelt down but kept his eyes on his adversary as he rubbed the surface of his limbs.

'Good. No damage.' He thought.

Dante eerily rose up as though he were being pulled by some invisible, giant hand. It terrified him. His eyes now held an additional unearthly red glow to them.  
The veins around his eyes also seemed to shine this way. He moved towards Bass faster than anyone could see and bulldozed him into the crowd barricade numerous yards away.  
Slowly walking towards him, he saw his rival pick himself up off the ground somehow.

Blood ran down the side of his head. He was hoarse, grunting to himself each time he inhaled. He propped himself up by his elbows onto the cold steel fence behind him.  
After some time, he pushed himself onto his legs, which managed to remain stable.

"Oh good god. You know, your daughter does this too." He said with clear irritation.

Armstrong was unable to see straight anymore but he forced his eyes to cooperate and eventually managed to refocus on his opponent.

"Yeah? I taught her well! You best start prayin' before I start fixin' you for a real beatin, brother!'" The cowboy said, intending to bluff to him that he was only just beginning to get started,  
but he could only laugh at the old man instead.

His cackle silenced the crowd around the arena, though there were remaining audience noises and cheering. In particular, Bass became incredibly uncomfortable.

"You don't have anything I haven't seen already. You're done. I can see the desperation in everything you do. Don't get me wrong. A King Kong guy like you would go great guns against anyone else.  
Yet you had to go and pick a fight with me. This'll teach you not to be so over-protective of that daughter." Dante said in response.

The massive brawler's clothing had become ripped and torn during there fight. He remained steadfast and slowly sank back to his familiar stance. He felt sore all over, but he wasn't down yet.  
He at least had some kind of mettle leftover.

But, the one person who seemed to be the reason behind it interrupted their fight.

Tina stood between them.

Taking turns looking at both of them, she said, "Look at what you've done! Daddy, why does it always have to go this way? It was something insignificant but you freaked out over it, like always!  
It's my life. And you! Dante? I still would like to try things out, but . . . not if you put my Dad in the hospital. I've already lost one parent!"

Watching the fight had impassioned her. The brutal way her father fought, in particular, had disgusted her.

"Tina . . . Move!" Armstrong said.

"No I won't!" She replied.

"This is non-negotiable, little lady. Stand aside! I'll deal with ya later." Bass was firm on this. He was yet again refusing to let her be her own person.

"Why? Why do you always do this to me!-? If it's somethin' I want, there's always somethin' negative bout it!" She said.

"Because ya don't know what's best for you!" He yelled. "Now stop talking back! I have to finish this."

"For the last time, I said no! Dad, I am thirty years old! I know exactly what's best for me." She argued. Tina spoke in a much less affected speech pattern this time in order to force her father to think about what she was saying.

"And?" Bass asked.

" . . . And maybe you shouldn't be involved in my life anymore." Tina said shockingly. She didn't really know what to expect from him. She knew it wouldn't be good, though.

"What? But . . . I'm yer father. You're tellin' me that . . . when you get married and . . . and have kids . . . I can't spend time with my Granddaughter? You would cut me out, that what yer sayin?'"  
He was genuinely hurt by what his precious Tina had just unloaded on him.

"Daddy . . . Don't-" Her plea was trampled over early. Bass had picked up the broken crowd barricade and thrown it over her head at Dante. He gracefully dodged the railing with a properly timed back-flip.

"YOU! What did you do to my Tina, you snivelin,' motherfuckin,' two-balled **b** **itch!-?** " He screamed at him in his now-haggard voice. Running forward, he shoved his child out of the way.

She landed on her injured arm and cried out but Armstrong couldn't hear her in that moment.

With an intense, burning howl of anger, he stampeded Dante and their fight was renewed. He threw another wild punch but was countered with a shove that stifled the blow.  
Dante leapt upwards into his chest with a swinging knee.

Bass let out a growl as he was thrown off of him and security rushed in to break up the fight.

The behemoth looked at them deranged, and looked longingly at the fallen guard rail. He picked up the metal work and fought them all off, swinging it around like a baboon.

Oscillating to the right, he knocked out three officers at once and then reverse-hook-kicked another who was attempting to use a stun stick on him from behind.  
Performing an about-face, he swung the fencing into the jaw of a man, knocking to the ground and then chucked overhead. It sailed like a frisbee at an even larger group moving towards him.

In his indignation, the man recklessly injured and flat-out almost killed several good people attempting to approach him, jumping on the thrown piece of barrier and pounding on it with his immense upper body strength. They flattened under his weight and strength combined.

Eventually, the damn thing collapsed with a great big crunch sound. Screams of blood-curdling anguish echoed out from the helpless men and women pinned underneath.

Many of the wrestling fans from afar didn't know anything had gone wrong or that this was unrehearsed, while the crowd up close was borderline-panicked by what was transpiring.  
Rationalist's there from other fanbases also recoiled, disturbed by the level of violence. Blood seeped from the pile of writhing uniforms.  
Stepping off the hurdle, Bass grabbed the railing again in order to combat remaining personnel.

He batted them away easily with a few more harsh strikes and even bashed up a camera filming this, placing a gigantic divot in the metal frame of the video recorder. He also cracked the lens.  
The audience dared not to enter the arena.

Meanwhile, Zack had swam through endless rowdy people before coming back to the main area. He rushed over to help an ailing Tina.

The slayer looked at her with shock. He'd been unoccupied by security, instead only concentrated on the burly brawler because of his relaxed nature. He saw her helpless.

It was wrong, she didn't deserve this kind of pain.

"Armstrong! Snap out of it! Your daughter's right; I don't want to put you in the emergency room!" Dante tried to reach him but to no avail as he dodged numerous swings from the fence.  
Every now and then, he'd also be forced to contend with a kick or two.  
Trying to stay away from the pursuing Bass, he continued to move fast, concealing his inhumanity by limiting the speed at which he could do so.

It was thing in the fight, where he was reckless, that he didn't really worry about it vs the now, when he'd come to some sort of rationale.

People were so cynical now, they'd probably call out any viral video as fake FX. Who could believe this anyway? Even if it was broadcast on TV, the event was dominated by wrestling.  
Everyone would still assume its fake. A little bit of rumor spreading would shoot down any acknowledgement.

"Armstrong, I'm telling you man. This isn't worth it! Calm down and we'll work things out!" He yelled at him, but the wrestler just continued to angrily pursue him,  
now limping thanks to Dante's earlier kick.

"Don't even say her name, yer not worthy, you poisonous ruffian!" Armstrong thundered. His voice however was tired from all the previous vocal stress and he could no longer reach his loudest point.

"Ruffian!-? I'm thirty-three years old! I haven't been called that since I was twenty!" Dante said as he sidestepped the incoming Bass and began back-stepping the other way.

" **RAAAGH!** " He forced his voice to reach its former levels. It was scratchy and his throat hurt. He had been reduced down to merely blackened screams and death grunts from the frustration of being unable to hit or catch the dark-coated hunter.

Dante tried in vain to desperately avoid hurting him. He gave one last plea.

"Come on! Stop it! What are you even going to do to me!-? You can't touch me as it is! Just give it up and we'll talk like men!" Dante shouted.

After running out of room, he climbed the slower moving fighter and used his face as a stepping-stool to jump meters over to the left.

After toughing down, he suddenly heard a few feet behind his back a crying voice say, "Do it."

He looked around and saw Tina in tears.

"Just end it. I can't stand to watch this go on. He's not my dad anymore . . . Not to me." As she said these words, an incredulous Dante looked back just in time to see the gate slam on him downward.

He remained still and unaffected by the blow, his right side sliding backwards purposefully. Looking back up at the taller man with burning eyes full of volatile wrath, he struck the final move.  
Pushing off the ground, a visible shockwave rang out.  
His fist traveled faster than anything he'd used on the guy so far.

The crowd went fully dead.

He was initially shocked. His body hadn't reacted yet in the first few seconds.

Dante soared a foot off the ground during the right-handed blow, having used all of his forward momentum. He remained air born for at least a few more seconds. Time completely stood still.

Then, as quickly as the moment began, it was over. He gracefully perched back on the ground and Bass crashed down to earth a few seconds later.

His jaw broken, he immediately fell unconscious before he hit the ground.

With security beaten up, no immediate law enforcement was around to do anything. All anyone could do was stare in pure amazement.

The one thing that could be heard in the entire arena was Tina crying in Zack's arms.

* * *

 **-To be continued-**

* * *

All notes now moved to the Manifest. Thank you.

Hope you enjoyed the read and constructive criticism is always welcome.


	6. Sinister Err

**-On the rooftop-**

* * *

Christie was pondering the events that had just happened. She saw a legend, an overly-protective beast, defeated by the very man she'd hired to kill her mortal enemy Helena.  
That's not an easy situation to tackle. A rage welled up inside her, pushing her rationale into a dark corner.  
She was a very sexual person, it came out in everything she did. So, when she saw the slayer in action, she couldn't keep her hands still. Slowly but surely, her hand found it's way in between her legs.

She'd begun to outright masturbate about him on a rooftop. The woman had such a great memory at her disposal as well, she just couldn't resist. Immediately after, she cleaned up.  
It wasn't like her to leave a mess. She had more class than that.

Yet it was compelling, watching the man again. He was in her head and she very much liked it.

"I don't-. . . I needed to be specific. I needed to be _way_ more specific about where he needed to go. In all that commotion, I must've gotten him off track.  
I hope he just gets there and offs em' soon. I want to relax." She said out loud. Strange.

"It's my understanding that you've been waiting for me?" A mysterious male said as he walked out of the darkness towards the platinum haired beauty.

"Oh, it's about time you showed up. I've been sitting here, trying to pass the time. I even resorted to watching professional wrestling.  
Such trash, although I won't lie; the match I just watched was quite entertaining." Christie said.

As the woman walked forward out of the shadows, out into the moonlight, she was revealed to be a blonde woman with a strange power emanating off her skin. She resembled Helena, surprisingly. However, there were key differences to take note of.

For one, she did not possess a meek body, instead a thick physique that made both women and men envious. In addition, she wore a Taupe jacket with the word 'Alma' embroidered over the left breast,  
purple trimmed adorned the sleeves, using a bar design that ended where the sleeves were rolled up.  
A white, one inch collar rested above her elbows where the jacket ended, revealing her toned forearms. Black leather gloves and red nail polish; a good combo.

High heeled dark boots, jacket-matching pants, and a red-and-black bra filled out the rest of her appearance. There wasn't a shirt underneath the jacket, so her cleavage was far more than generous. Other details included a stylish white belt that acknowledged the pale on her short coat.

It didn't appear that there were any weapons with her.

Then again, the blood-curse enabled that to be an option.

Coming to a stop, she said, "Wrestling doesn't concern me. You require some service?"

"How very direct. I like that in a man." Christie said, casually flirting.

Rachel cocked an eyebrow and responded, "I'm a woman, or is my shirt too low key for you to notice that?"

Despite being all about business, the afflicted warrior showed off an awareness of sarcasm.

Her summoner was turned on, "What else do you say? I'm dying for something to spice my night up."

"If all your business is purely carnal in nature, then I'll take my leave from you. Now, what did you require?" The hunter replied.

She was quite vexed by the stern warrior. Ironically, this made her even more similar in nature to Helena. It was a bit of a twisted attraction in a way.

"You're no fun, half-fiend. Hmph . . . MIST requests that you aid us in stopping DOATEC." She stated.

"The weapons corp?" She said, "I don't understand."

Christie sardonically cackled in her face, "I knew it. Rig you imbecile . . . Look, how long've you been working for us?" She asked.

"Three years. I doubt you care beyond that?" She pondered aloud in response.

The captivating assassin smiled at her guest.

"All right, you always catch on quick at least. DOATEC is threatening to destroy the world's balance. Where else would it be but America?" She said, calling attention to the source of greed.

These actions usually came from such a place.

She simply nodded. Her golden mane glistened against the night light, parted in the middle and braided in a long, flowing bun in back.

"Long before you joined us, Victor Donovan, a man who wanted to restore structure and intelligence to civilization, formed our little band.  
He died four years ago from lung cancer, though we believe it was a form of poison over a long period of time. In spite of our technology, he just grew worse.  
New evidence has come to light that it was an assassination.  
We've contacted you because we need to defeat them using their own tools."

It was a bit of a mouthful.

"It's sort of a 'fight fire with fire' situation." Christie finished explaining.

She had become quite adept at occasionally holding in her profound sensuality.

Also, lying.

Lying through those flawless teeth.

Looking at her, a part of her wanted to rip off her clothes to see what that level of fitness looked like. It drove her crazy when she couldn't see what was right in front of her.

Or what she wasn't allowed to.

She knew it was usually fun to keep secrets, face-included sometimes, but she genuinely felt a tugging curiosity come over her.

"'Defeat them using their own tools?'" Rachel wondered what this meant before concluding, "Other fiends?"

No one knew where she came from, not even herself after a while.

"The tribe they hired are called the Mugen Tenshin clan. I'm to understand you have an awareness of them already?"

She could see in the hunter's eyes that she could barely recall the name.

'Perfect.' The woman said.

"They used to work for DOATEC but in recent years, we've seen no . . . Um . . . 'ninja-activity' so far. They're strong, comparable to you, but you've more power over all of them.  
Now, we think, may be the perfect time to strike.  
What better way to destroy evil but with some sort of ironic twist?" Christie was adamant about selling her lie.

The female hunter was initially suspicious. She didn't like traveling in many circles outside the ones needed for use in her current obligation.  
Rachel was unsure if there really was an evil clan that existed, and would come to the United States in order to wage terror on it's populace.

"Is it really bad enough that you've come to me for help?" The woman was steadily coming around to the request.

She knew this but simply played along, displaying great acting ability as she continued the falsification.

"Demon's are always a last resort. What do you think?" Christie made sure that the line contained a large degree of desperation and depression, enough at least to fool a stoic and brave person like Rachel.

"I see." She began, "So when do we start?"

The platinum beauty gained a large degree of personal satisfaction from deceiving others. It proved to her that she was superior, and at least good at the job.  
Its the only gratification she ever needed.

Well, apart from sex and murder.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, at a hospital in Edgemere-**

* * *

Medical professionals of both sexes were rushing Bass Armstrong into the Emergency Room.

As they slid him in, surgeons flooded the space, screaming orders between them for I.V.s, additional pain killers, surgical tools and a variety of different staff members.  
The man was in critical condition, having sustained grave injuries from his fight, some potentially fatal.

In a separate part of the building, Tina was swiftly assisted with her dislocated arm.

She was still a bit weepy.

Zack and Dante were both running back and forth grabbing items and myriad tools for professionals and their assistants. Both had volunteered to be of service upon arrival.

Mostly because the pair sought forgiveness from the Armstrong family.

The elder wrestler had suffered a broken jaw and blown-out orbital bone, alongside a cavalry of other wounds all over.  
His current state was, needless to say, touch and go.

Dante was remaining calm but showed annoyance towards the overwhelmed hospital crew.

"Get outta my damned way!" He barked at one of the orderlies as they attempted to stop him for his ID and reason of visitation.

He had previously been halted an innumerable amount of times for the same reason; often by different employees all named some variation of Alex.

Why? Because the fickle hand of fate liked to perennially fuck him over.

In all of this confusion, he simply began shoving the workers out of his way. He gently pushed this specific staff member and sent him hurling into a wall behind the call center.  
The incompetent Alleks crumpled to the floor, leaving a drastic impression in the cheap drywall.

"Stupid . . ." He remarked as he charged through the halls to bring numerous boxes of HIV medication, needles, and bandages. Oddly enough, no one noticed.

Either that or they just didn't care.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, at a harbor several miles away-**

* * *

Ryu appeared alongside Kasumi, shrouded in flower petals at first. They had just teleported there using ninpo.

"Well, back in the city again." Ryu remarked, the wind rustling through his short brown hair. Many of his adventures often took him out into the inner cities of different nations.

"Where are the new head quarters?" He asked.  
It was a valid question, considering that DOATEC had to reinvent itself somehow, and, in the process, wound up abandoning and selling off their former compounds.

"They should be somewhere off in that direction." Kasumi pointed southwest of their position. "I'm not sure, I was only there once." She added.

"You're kidding. Because of course this needed to be harder for some reason." He cynically replied.

"You know, your time in isolation made you into a real jerk!" Kasumi stated. It was shocking how different he'd become. The entire time that she'd traveled with him,  
he had displayed a serious lack of the charm and personal warmth he used to bear.

"Hey, what do you want from me? I've been living in guilt and misery for the past four years. Even you would be on edge." He shut his eyes instantly, realizing whom he was speaking to.

Opening them slowly, "Forgive me. I've forgotten."

She sighed with frustration. "Hah. So as I said before, they are somewhere in that direction, probably a few hundred miles off. That's not a problem, though. If we-"  
Her explanation was cut off by a sudden moan of anguish.

Down on the ground, the two saw a man clasping his body in pain.  
They observed him wearing a dark coat over a drab gi.  
Jumping down from the rooftop, both ninjas gracefully slid down the building's side and landed without harm.

Kasumi immediately inspected him.

"What happened, are you all right?" She gently asked.

"Gahh . . . no!" He responded. He looked strong, like an ox, but they noticed he was bleeding from his abdomen.

"This group of teenagers and kids came by. They always . . ." He nearly dropped out of consciousness but managed to keep himself awake enough to continue.

"They always harass me and call me names, but I just ignore em'. Tonight they- . . . attacked me, thinking I had money. I fought them off, buh one of them-managed to shoo me.  
Afteh tha- . . . beatton . . . relenth . . ." He steadily lost his train of thought, slurring his words as he passed out.

"Help me, we have to get him to the hospital!" Kasumi ordered.

Hayabusa was reluctant.

"What? He's not our concern." The elder ninja stated.

Once again, she angrily confronted him.

"Ryu!" This gained his ear quickly.

Thinking for a brief moment, the black-clad ninja reluctantly agreed and proceeded to aid the man. Using a small chi-transfer, Ryu stabilized the homeless man's wound and healed him somewhat, enabling them to prolong his life efficiently. Though successfully ceasing the external bleeding, the man still possessed serious internal damage.

The black ninja then used teleportation to take them into a different alley. In their new location he saw a hospital just a few meters away, carrying him over to the building.

Once inside, the two entered him in as a John Doe. The duo signed a few forms under pseudonyms, the receptionists decidedly took the man, in spite of overcrowding.  
Due to a lack of staff available, both volunteered to aid the man themselves.  
Getting him to a hospital room, he was quickly wired into a drip by a nurse after Kasumi stitched his other wounds. It was hard to heal someone else, only a few could master such a technique.

Even then, Ryu was no master, only pacifying the inevitable for a short time unless the injured received proper medicinal attention quickly.

Nevertheless, after things settled, they sat in the hospital room as the mysterious vagabond lay in bed.

"Well, I wonder how long this little side mission will take." Ryu openly stated.

"Get it through your head that you need to be personable or else we can't continue this undertaking. I've no patience for comments like that, so cut it out!" Kasumi had become hardened over the years and her tolerance of mocking had considerably eroded.

"Go cool off downstairs, okay? Maybe they could use you. You did volunteer after all." She said

Even though he could have argued that she could also do the same, his guilt over past history caused him to also remind himself that he genuinely did still care about the young woman.  
Since he had no honor to speak of, he realized he was in no position to give her a hard time.

"Okay then." He got up to leave but stopped briefly in the doorway.

He turned back and said, "I'm sorry. I'm not used to being in the company of friends anymore," Then resumed his walk and proceeded to the elevator.

As he did, Dante hurriedly walked past him.

"Move!" The silver haired hitman spat out as he hurried by. Ryu just ignored him and continued to the elevator, walking inside and turning as he pushed the button to go down to the first floor.  
The doors shut and he was carried downward.

* * *

 **-Downstairs-**

* * *

They opened after some time.  
He walked out and escaped the wretched clutch of the boring music that played within the vertically moving box. He continued to help but noticed something peculiar.  
The white haired man he had encountered on the upper floor just under a minute ago had somehow beaten him down to the first floor.

'Odd' he thought as he began to help take supplies to a pregnant woman.

"Jesus, where is Zack?" Dante said aloud to himself as he began searching.

The lobby floor of the hospital was crowded and loud. It was clear that this was actually a normal night for a medical center in such a big city.

"Zack! What's goin' on? Where did they move her to?" He said after finding him, flustering the man in the process. He had been in the middle of aiding a nurse take a burn victim into the ER.

"Uh, dude I'm in the middle of helpin' this guy." Zack showed great reluctance to help Dante.

"Look, I know you're busy, but just tell me where she is and I can leave you alone. Fair?" He said impatiently. The man really needed to find Tina.

Zack was very visibly frustrated at him. He just wanted him to go away so he simply complied and told him a quick lie.

"They took her up to the fifteenth floor, man." He turned away and continued onward hurriedly.

"Thanks." Dante said as he set off to find her, not really questioning the logic of it. His manager didn't even know if there was a fifteenth.  
He quickly went to the elevator and took it all the way up to the top. As he stepped off he observed that at the highest level of the building it was silent and abandoned almost.  
In fact, the difference in sound, that total lack of human energy, unnerved him greatly.

"God damn it, Zack."

As he went to look around he said, "Hello? Anybody up here?"

Realizing how odd it was that there was a fifteenth story not in use since the hospital was so busy,  
he thought back and recalled also hearing numerous personnel mentioning just about every floor **but** the fifteenth.

As he continued to investigate he remembered that the button on the panel in the elevator looked newer than the others, almost as if it was only recently installed.

A cold chill ran through him when he'd walked out, and the doors closed almost as soon as he left; notably far quicker than any elevator that he'd ridden so far.

When he asked his question, realization struck that he was not alone.

"Fantastic."Dante declared, coming to sense that another entity was on the same floor with him . . . but it wasn't human.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, downstairs-**

* * *

Ryu walked around, continuing to help anyone he could passively. He found an unexpectedly great deal of satisfaction from doing so.  
He and Kasumi had both utilized their Ki to disguise themselves with civilian-looking attire. Both could see through this illusion but those untrained could not.

He thought to himself, 'This is screwy. I'm in a hospital helping people after having killed so many others not just an hour ago. What's wrong with me?'

Immediately, he heard gunshots ring out. They were faint and far away, but he fought enough mercenaries in his day to recognize the sound.

He changed course for the exit door straightaway.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, upstairs-**

* * *

As soon as he said these words, Dante saw demons appear out of shadows on the wall, out of empty rooms and even directly materialize out of materials scattered across the floor.  
The demons were numerous and varied.  
Some were hunched down, hulking lizard types. Others looked like mangled humans and made shrill monkey whines.  
He even saw some that looked like puppets that had knives impaled through them and were missing limbs or had visible holes in there body.

"Why? How is it here of all places?" Dante said with a complete lack of desire but accompanying utter confusion.

He certainly had interest in fighting, wanting let off steam for many reasons, but he just wanted to talk things over with Tina.  
A part of him also just wanted to connect with someone. He saw her as that person. However, it would take a huge amount of effort now to try and smooth things over with her.

"Dante . . . you must join us . . ." A demon with a scythe and black cloak said to him. The voice was loud and sounded as though it were never meant for the ears of the living.

It hissed and spat out this twisted speech.

He remained unimpressed.

The only thing that he thought about was why the head-honcho just spoke those words.

"Join you? That's a new one. Usually, pretty little gems like you wanna kill me. What's different now, you tired of dyin'?" He was almost entirely uncaring.

The demons had surrounded him, so he clicked his fingers, re-materializing his artillery once more. He placed his hand on Rebellion, threatening to swing it if they came any closer.

"I'll ask ya one more time, what made you say a thing like that? How did you all even get here?-!" He angrily snarled.

Dante could be quite venomous when he felt like it.

"Your act-. . . ions disrespect . . us . . . Kill him!" The grim monster heckled him.

As soon as it had commanded the others to do so, they lunged.

He dodged many of their attacks.

Swiping claws and stabbing talons all missed him as he gracefully moved through the crowded hospital floor, using his sword to rive demons in half, while remorselessly decapitate others.

The man plowed through many of them, dicing many of the crowd effortlessly as he made his way to the big bad.  
Reaching the reaper-esque creature, he swung hard, but it blocked his harsh helmbreaker with it's scythe. The creature moved faster than anticipated, which left the man distracted temporarily.

Whilst stunned that a lesser demon could possess such speed, he was suddenly struck in the back.

Letting out a grunt of pain, he'd forgotten that only demons could inflict pain on each other.

Looking back revealed a burned gremlin-type creature had stabbed him through the back, cutting through one of his heart valves.

It possesed a leather tunic and torn black leggings. Quite a 'ye-olde' style demon.

Human anatomical weaknesses would not deter the white-haired slayer, however.  
He attempted a counter strike, twisting his body to have the elongated savage, but was kicked all the way across the hallway and slammed against a painting on the wall.

A wraith-demon wielding had bunted him abroad whilst he was inattentive.

Speedily jumping up to his feet, he could be seen physically healing from the vicious attack in a matter of seconds.

The man fought off a rushed pounce by the surviving beast and was quickly surrounded by others he neglected to cut down.

Things weren't looking so great.

Refusing to be intimidated, Dante proceeded to slash his sword around and quickly cut through one demon with an earthbound strike.  
The creature was sliced in half, before the man swung the blade around in one, fluidly circular fashion that stupefied the numerous other beasts surrounding.

It struck them twice as he breezily brought the blade around him in two full rotations.

He followed this up with a fourth strike that he built up power in by spinning on his heels and swinging the sword up under his opposite shoulder and then across with his dominant right hand.

The attack had such force that he propelled most of them backwards all at once into walls and even some through hospital room windows.

He proceeded to hold his sword up and pointed forward, with his arm lurched back, prepared for a forward stab strike.  
The man extended his other arm up alongside the blade as a kind of guide.

Dante aimed directly for the head demon and proceeded to drive the Rebellion through the air.

Just as he thrust his sword, he suddenly left his position at the other end of the hallway, ripping through with his demonic claymore extended outward completely before him.

The man generated a massive burst of wind to pick up as he zoomed through the corridor at inhuman levels.

A faint, red energy gathered around the tip as he went. Eventually, the whole blade burned crimson.

Within seconds, he was met with great resistance.  
Upon impact, a crimson shockwave blasted back the remaining foes and disintegrated a few more, while the sword itself kept grinding up into the demon's shrouded abdomen.

The opposing force was so great he almost dropped the weapon.

He persisted, however, and stepped forward with his left foot in order to give himself greater leverage.

Driving the blade further, Dante's eyes glowed their hostile vermillion once more.

He continued to press against the demon's impenetrable steel skin. It began feeling an intense, piercing as the inhuman refused to stop his furious assault.

In response, the pale entity shoved it's crooked hand against his face, attempting to force him down into the ground.

This demon had unnaturally long arms and its hands had protracted, boney fingers that ended in a sharp point.

Its entire palm was wrapped around half the devil-killer's head, the long fingers closed around the other side.

Showing his greater strength, he resistantly pushed against the hand with his head and managed to turn and look back up directly into the face of his attacker.

A smiling, demented visage of a pallid human face that had been warped beyond recognition smiled back at him.

With glowing blue eyes, it was a face that was pained and twisted out of proportion. Foaming from the mouth, Dante could see that it bore jagged teeth and frail, faded features.  
It's nose was nearly nonexistent, stretched thin; virtually mere slits but a bump was still present, indicating some remaining cartilage.

Facial wasting was also apparent, aiding in the head's skeletal look.  
There were leather straps with metal hooks that had become grafted onto its skin at it's mouth, forcefully pulling the lips and flesh back into a fixed smile.  
The belts and pegs had somewhat fused to it, giving the impression they were attached for a long time. Bandages covered its forehead.

"What the hell happened to you?" Dante grunted through closed teeth.

His blade finally broke through the skin and impaled the creature. All that kinetic force released at once into a demonic burst of orange-tainted red. It manifested as a circle of runes.  
The destructive wave blasted the monstrosity through a thick wall of concrete and pipes, and several feet onward still.

That variant of his sword strike, the stinger, was so powerful that the demon hurtled out of the hospital window, destroying the encompassing surface as well.

Glass shards fell to the empty black top below as it crashed down onto a car, flat on it's back.

Dante then turned his attention to his environment. He noted that many creatures were still present but had strangely backed away instead of attacking.

That wasn't normal.

In fact, that was highly unusual behavior. Normally, they attacked him like they were wild animals; thoughtless. Something was trying send him a message.

"What are all o' you chickens waiting for? You're here aren't you?-!" He agitatedly yelled.

The fiends seemingly reacted to his comments and continued their assault.

"There we go, this is more like it!" Dante said as he whipped his sword around and struck a battle stance.

As the demons reluctantly cornered him, the man flung his blade and lashed out.

He cleaved through multiple demons at a time, continuing to dodge gracefully the retaliatory attacks. He eventually came up against a hulking monster with twisted limbs and a stone-like body.  
It made sounds like a human whose vocals chords were constantly being ripped out.

It flung its massive, backwards right arm at Dante in an attempt to thrash him across the room, but the black-and-red man flipped over the incoming pounce and swung sideways.

He beheaded the monster with one deft slice.

Landing on his feet made him aware of the pressing issue. Other creatures that appeared to coalesce themselves from the dust jumped him.  
They were ugly, small, troll-like little beasts.  
Soon, he was overwhelmed and covered completely by the sandy creations as he was forced onto the ground by their cumulative weight, having assailed his frame before he could react.

The big pile was disturbed by a sudden burst of power. Dante forcibly stood, channeling his strength together, tossing these inferiors away from him.

He found his sword was several yards away.

Refusing to let any get the better of him again, the man drew his pistols and fired a shot at point blank range into the forehead of a demon that was still clinging to his arm.  
The blow destroyed its head and it fell apart, returning to brimstone. He emerged no worse for wear, but cut and bruised.

Spraying bullets, he killed every one of the sand creatures he could see.

His gunslinger style enabled him to shoot each one without moving, often moving his arms in synchronized patterns when they would leap around out of his direct view.  
He knew where they would be, not by sight, but he knew.  
Each vaporized after the other, leaving dwarf-shaped mounds of sand as their heads popped.

But some were more resilient than others. Every now and then he would have to dodge or roll out of the way of an oncoming attack.

Ultimately, he whittled away there numbers until only one was left.

It jumped and actually avoided his gunfire, plying itself to the wall and then jumping in front of him. As it was evading his shots, it began charging up a special attack.  
A smokey, purple aura arose, and it unleashed the maneuver as soon as it landed.  
Upon smashing it's feet into the stained carpet, the troll projected the oncoming storm at him from it's mouth, making a loud shriek in the process.

A searing shotgun burst of hot embers and sooty-grime was thrust his way at sixty miles per hour, forcing Dante to guard.

It temporarily stunned him, rendering his vision inert due to the thick dirt, sludge and mire hazed into his sockets.

Meanwhile, the compact beast scourged at his leg with a claw, causing him to shout from surprise. Stumbling, the wound crippled his focus, enabling the troll to jump up onto his upper body from there.

In half a second, it clawed his face, dragging it's razor's through his flesh and carving off some of his mug.  
Stripping away several chunks to reveal his nervous tendons, the creature had simultaneously scraped his eye, causing him temporary blindness.

With a portion of his visage now missing, Dante screamed in pain and proceeded to drop Ivory, his right-handed gun, and threw back a quick, spiteful punch.

"You rotten little . . . !" he trailed off.

He let his smoldering pain fuel his fist as he plunged it forward without mercy.

The impact tore through its left hand as it attempted a measly defence. The creature was erased by his smite.

Dust exploded out into the same direction of his attack.

His face began to heal itself and, after reclaiming his pistol, he quickly grabbed Rebellion, placing it back on his back. He jetted out the shattered window several feet away and leaped into the streets.

After landing, he looked around and noticed that several vehicles had been flipped over. There was a general destructive path he could see leading over towards his left.  
With car alarms and the shrieking injured all around him, Dante blindingly chased after the demon in it's obvious direction.

Ryu came to a ledge and observed him running through the road. He was caught a bit off-guard, so he began tailing him.

'Well . . . That's special. He's that same man from earlier. There seems to be a new problem with his face.' He thought as he saw the same destruction through the streets.

However, unlike the mysterious silver suspect, he was unaware of what was responsible.

All he knew of, for now, was the pale man.

He was going to find out what had happened one way or another.

Several meters down the block, Dante eventually managed to track down and catch up with the demon.

"Hey! Did you think we were done? Why were you infesting the hospital?" He questioned in a serious tone. The large grim reaper turned to face the hunter and readied its scythe.

"You've . . . pro-. . ven your-self stroooong . . . stro-ong enough . . . to face us in battle . . . As your l'ast chance- . . . join us, Son-of- . . . Sparda!" The demon cried.  
It's pained voice had become even worse following the gut wound.

At the mention of his father's name, he fell silent. His closing wounds temporarily stopped as he did.

.

.

" . . . And just how do you know that name?" he was dead serious. His nameless opponent refused to answer, instead dancing around the question.

"You- . . . are not . . . the only spawn of his- . . that is . . . run'ning around." This black-cloaked horror was almost taunting Dante with an apparent truth.  
It's speech was filled with a creepy style of breathing and eerie, strange pauses.  
Every once in a while, it's head would flicker around, like it wasn't attached to the body at all, but was trying to break free from the skin-puppet.

"What the hell are ya talking about!-? Spit it out, Jigsaw! Why are you attacking humans in the open? Why now?" He angrily confronted it, drawing both guns again and aiming them sideways.  
He was so puzzled, so frustrated about the malicious presence, that he was willing to openly use his own demonic weaponry in public as well.

"Too . . . bad . . . he was right about you . . ." It hissed as it readied its blue, fiery scythe.

"Who?" He asked to no response.

"My name . . . is-" The demon was cut off before it could give a grand introduction.

Dante suddenly appeared to teleport to its location and struck hard with a vertical bash.  
The demon however, just barely managed to stop it, once again bringing the scythe's stalk up to perform a block.

He continuously applied pressure against it. Though he was tall, the monster was taller.

"I don't care what your name is. I'm gonna find out whats going on here! But first, I think I'll show you just how scary I can be." He spoke with new conviction and murderous intent.  
He certainly wasn't lying; the previous wound he had inflicted on it had healed only somewhat. It was still sensitive in that area and luminous blue blood was smeared around in a few places.

Ryu watched from an alleyway with anticipation of what was to come, so he secretly scaled another building and crouched on a nearby rooftop, observing.

Parting ways with a bang, the unearthly huntsman blasted the anonymous, wicked spirit in the cheek with a bullet, causing it to stagger back as he flipped rearward and landed several feet away.

They assumed battle stances and prepared for a real fight.

* * *

 **-To be continued-**

* * *

Notes in the Manifest. Thanks for reading!


	7. Original Sin

**-On top of a mountain peak, four years prior-**

* * *

Ryu stood his ground against his former friends. Hayate and Ayane knew that he would be far more powerful than before, now.

But they were unaware of just how big the strength difference actually was.

Still, both knew they had to try to beat him.

"Do not do this to yourself, Ryu. It's not worth it. Not this time . . ." He said but the man remained steadfast.

They exchanged glares.

"That was your last chance." Hayate ripped into him with a cold stare. The duo speedily ran forward.

Ryu remained in his position. He couldn't believe the power he felt within himself. The specific ninpo was a technique that he had known was forbidden.  
Since his earliest days as a ninja, he'd been instructed not to ever use the technique.

Why he had decided to betray this directive during his insanity was actually very clear.

His body was weak and rotting. In such a dark time, he needed to be strong; invulnerable.

The virus was clearly the working of MIST. For what purpose that this genetically engineered virus was employed, he couldn't say, but he needed to be stronger. Much stronger.

Strong enough to be completely ready.

The technique was simple. New improvements were made to the body, reinforcing his cells and modifying his genetics. He became powerful enough that his body was able to withstand literal divinity,  
and so, a fraction of an old, dead god's soul, that no longer resided in this plane, was summoned forth and bonded into the physical cavities.

The power wasn't much.  
Only a little bit could be assembled together without being detected by celestial beings, whose function it was to preserve such things.  
The eruption of energy from the body was used as a way to create a temporary hole between dimensions, keeping it open temporarily in order to draw the coalesced godhead into a physical form.  
His enhanced physiology acted as a vessel to contain it.

Though the person who uses it is still not a true deity, nor anywhere close in capability, the level of power they wield is determined by their base strength.

It turned a being like Raidou into a completely unstoppable madman, powerful, but still human. Who knows what it did to Ryu, as he was, by no stretch of the imagination, far stronger.

. . .

The two charged their apparently-former friend.

Hayate switched to the left and Ayane flipped over to the right.

The ninja in black remained still.

They lunged from each respective points of attack. She landed a punch to the ribs while he kicked him in the side of his face.

Ryu once again stayed still. In shock, the two jumped away and stared.

"What the- Get him!" He ordered as they renewed their assault.

This time, the foe blocked their attacks with simple maneuvers. He was calm, showing no signs of his former sickness whatsoever.

He easily countered with a heavily restrained roundhouse kick that took both of his opponents by surprise.  
Hayate successfully dodged the attack with expert timing, however, his pink-haired partner wasn't fast enough.

Ayane rocketed towards the plateau's edge.

She managed to catch herself and recover before it was too late, but she was left with a soreness in her body, exacerbated by previous exhaustion when attending to the village people.  
The Kunoichi had a new mark on her shoulder and, noticing this, she clasped her hand over it, rubbing it to prevent blood from settling into a hematoma.

Whilst she grunted from the pain, Hayate continued his own siege.

Yelling as he charged, he unleashed a flurry of different attacks.  
All of them culminated with Ryu turning him around and discharging a simple shockwave from his hand.

He sent the white ninja hurtling off the mountainside.

However, using a variety of ninpo, he slowed his momentum with levitation, then coated his legs in electricity as he arced chaotically up to the rim.  
Managing to zip back onto the peak, he landed with one knee on the ground and his hand on the joint, huffing and puffing.

Regaining himself from his turbulent flight experience, Hayate looked to see Ayane doing battle with the maskless black-suited shinobi herself.

She was interchanging a variety of different fighting styles to try to throw him off.  
Although it appeared effective, forcing him to move around some, Hayate could tell from his face that he was nowhere near his new limit.

He charged forward and pushed himself off the ground, zooming through the air, his fist prepped, but Ryu delivered a precise, hapkido chop to the woman's gut and then performed a flying kick,  
chained together with a second one using his opposite boot.

Effortlessly, he sent her in the direction of her fast-approaching half-sibling.

The two crashed into each other and plummeted to the ground. He pushed Ayane off of himself and launched immediately into a rush. His attempt failed when he was sidestepped.  
She saw this and promptly drew her own short swords, attacking first with a left-handed stab.

The man caught the blade with both hands, completely halting her momentum.

Using her other arm, she tried with a swiping sword strike after she landed, but he suddenly zipped over to the right.

Yanking her limb with him, the man refused to let go, causing her attack to miss altogether while she felt her muscles tighten and strain.

Coming to a sudden stop, he kept one hand plastered to her arm, then used the other to seize her right as she brought the wakizashi forward for another slash.  
Forcing her completely still, he used more of his yet-untapped strength.

Ryu began to spin her around, dragging her feet off the ground to revolve with him. Eventually, her whole body was lifted up, completely vertical, while her limbs became subject to increasing pressure.

At one point, they nearly felt as though they'd torn clean off.  
He quickly built more speed, placing greater balance on his heels, before letting go.

The kunoichi streaked through the sky, off the mountain.

She did not rejoin the fight.

"No!" Hayate yelled as he saw her sail off the edge.

In anger, he roared, "If I had the Jinran-Maru I'd take your forsaken head where you stand!"

He shot into a forward ki-laden strike. It glowed brightly yellow as he jet forward, his feet barely touching the ground.

It was unsuccessful.

Ryu just flipped over him, easily.

The fighter stumbled forward, regaining traction on his soles. Turning to face his traitorous ally, he'd all but disappeared.

"Wha- where did-!?" He said as he scanned the area, only for his enemy to grab his arm harshly all of a sudden. "-Gah!"

Punching Hayate in the back, he kicked the shinobi's legs out from under him. Shoving his palm forward against his chest, he flushed his spine to the ground, holding him there.

In defile, the grounded man seized his arm and blasted his face with a quick fire ninpo.

Much to his dismay, his new rival remained unharmed. The most damage done had been to the armor.  
The now slightly burnt, black-clad ninja angrily threw his white counterpart across the peak towards the edge. Landing on his chest, he could see all the way down to the village from there.

With everyone sick, it looked abandoned.

Ryu flashed over in a dark blur, then grabbed his friend by his gi.

Twisting him over, he held him down by his clothing and yelled at him.

"Stay down. Let me leave, and we can still part friendly, however little that sentiment means to you now."

" . . . No, you're insane . . . after what you just did to Ayane? I'll _never_ forgive you now!" Hayate proudly punted Hayabusa in his stomach, forcing the surprised warrior off his feet,  
and himself tumbling backwards off the peak.

Ryu still had the now torn pieces of his shirt clasped in his hands.

The elder shinobi flew downward and used the currents to guide him along the rock face. He used the gravity ninpo to stop his descent. Dashing upwards, he propelled himself to superhuman speeds.  
His body had large reserves of energy. It enabled him to use his abilities continuously for hours on end.  
Brashly, this fellow had attained this effect by constantly expending his Ki during his younger days, especially after fighting Raidou and losing.

That battle conjured feelings of shattered security. Hayate came to believe that, if he constantly drained, and even put a strain on himself while engaged in aura use,  
he would be able to increase the amount his physique was capable of holding each time.  
Perhaps the philosophy stemmed from the way their people's synapses evolved differently from other humans. After all, they had a stronger pineal gland too.

Perhaps that was the reason why the ninja were able to feel their life force in ways others couldn't.

Not just anyone could become a ninja.

Regardless, this correctly produced his desired results, yet also caused him longer periods of time without being able to access any of his jutsu whatsoever.  
His system would simply shut down and 'reboot' every time he overdid it.  
Despite this, he felt comfortable now. Comfortable enough that he didn't need to labor himself, but discerned this moment was a special exception to that rule.

He quickly reached the summit once more, then pulled himself up.

Decidedly ridding himself of his exhaustion, the young leader activated Art of Divine Life. A blue aura consumed him temporarily, restoring what he'd lost.  
Using two techniques in rapid succession was extremely taxing, leaving his attack vitality cut in half.

Hayate stood in his battle stance yet again.  
He held a renewed resolve to bring justice against his confidant, but a lingering thought in the back of his mind told him this might not be the best move.

Still he continued the fight.

He yelled as he attacked, channeling some of his spirit into his strikes to make them stronger.

Ryu took notice of this as his first blow, a knee to his head, actually hurt him for the first time during the fight.  
This was followed by a combination, which saw him speedily strike five times in scores of four.

It was like a beautiful math equation, everything in exact precision.

Of the twenty hits, sixteen hurt. The other four bounced off like nothing.

Launching a further salvo of kicks, he followed with a knee to his gut. The next move was a vicious roundhouse kick. He faltered, losing his footing.

Still, the ninja quickly recovered, then broke out from an attempted grab.

He quickly countered with a high leg of his own. It briefly knocked the wind out of his opponent.  
A flurry of Wing-Chun-styled punches left him hurting. Keeling over, Hayate nearly collapsed to the ground on his back, but felt someone grab one of his arms.

Ryu pulled him around and forward onto his feet.

He then jutted his elbow into a bewildered Hayate's lower back.

A loud crack rung out.

"AAAHH!" He screamed, in excruciating pain. His back never healed right after the original defeat from Raidou. The ninja permanently had to take care that he didn't re-injure it in some way.  
Fumbling forward onto his knees, he felt the betrayal come full circle.

"You bastard-. . . ! You know the small of my back is my weakest point, but you hit me there anyway!" As the man spoke, Ryu realized that he had overstepped yet another personal boundary,  
by earnest mistake.  
Knowledge of his own friend, used against him; knowledge that he knew was sensitive. He looked at his hands, horrified by what he'd done. The man felt his feelings of remorse surface once again.

It was similar to a freight train being dropped on his head, the feeling gutted him.

"No . . . Why is this happening?!" He remarked while he looked at his own hands.

'Why am I doing this? Am I really a monster like they all said?' Ryu thought as he continued to come to grips with his new situation.  
He always thought himself, just when it came to his actions, that there was some greater purpose.

This time? He really was the bad guy.

He cursed at himself.

He almost felt as though the disease had awakened, maybe even created a new subconscious mind within him. Something that he'd been suppressing.

The corruption in his soul grew fainter as time passed.  
All he could feel now was a sinking guilt pulling at his chest, further and further.

Images of people, begging for mercy, forgiveness, being cut down, brutally tortured without reprieve, and fires raging to the sounds of screaming children haunted his mind.  
Vivid colors and smells came back to him as a lump in his throat formed and he could feel his stomach churning.  
Bile built up at the back of his throat, producing that familiar, sickening salivation against his tongue. New emotions surrounded him, strangled him.

All as he looked upon his formerly-close ally with contrition, wanting to wish it all away.

"I'm going to end this! You may have been my friend once but I won't hesitate to put you down!" Hayate yelled at him.

Ryu only watched as he steadied himself and smothered the pain in his back.

Wind rustle through their hair.

Dark versus light.

The soldier struck a special stance after beating his hands against the opposite sides of his chest.  
He summoned up all the power in his spirit and, as a result, a white-tinted, azure aura began steadily rising up from the outer-edge of his frame.

He prepared to use his most powerful attack, the Torn Sky Blast.

Hayabusa looked on in a gloomy despondency.  
Initially, he was unable to do anything, despite having more than enough energy to fire a counter-attack three times what Hayate could produce at his best.

But then he remembered. If he fell here, if it ended right now, his duties as protector of the world's balance . . . would fall to no one.

The earth would crumble to dust.

Ravaged by the wicked and depraved.

Could he really bare to do what he had to, just for survival?

Hayate placed his hands together, then expelled the blast forward. He shot his arms forward in unison.

It was huge, much larger than any wave he had ever been shown capable of generating.

The release came, careening forward at his enemy.

Ryu felt engulfed by the harmonious light. He was overcome with grief and confusion.

At the last possible second, he fired a return shot.

The electromagnetically-charged void wasn't very big by comparison to his opponent's. The Sky Blast, on collision, became absorbed with ease, turning the amethyst electricity a paler shade.  
Briskly, it grew vast in size; a far more powerful version of an attack that would usually be eradicated by such force.

As it rushed towards him, Hayate thought about all the times they had saved each other, sparred with one another, only to realize in this instant, all that was meaningless now.

Ryu was a fighter who would battle to win no matter the price.

It seemed fate had already decided his answer.

One of them was human, but neither was feeling like it. Hayate's heart beat increased dramatically.

The wave cut through his own defense.

He watched and glimpsed the genius warrior far greater strength.

The hex had given him life beyond life; more than he could have ever even guessed.  
Prying apart the molecules in the air, the detonation was so immense, by juxtaposition to it's normal form, that it seemed some supra-cosmic consciousness interfered with their battle.

Similar to an old Greek God . . . not that Hayate even knew what that was.

"No!" He whispered, defeated.

Of all the people, the one to strike him down is his own peer.

Silence remained as the swirling thunder of radiation was engulfed by a giant singularity. Packing itself together in an instant, the entity tore apart jets of pure, dissonant currents outward.

During the chaos, the sacred mountaintop burst open, spewing ash and pieces of steaming boulders into the implosion.  
Compressing everything into a point, the attack suddenly expanded, detonating every charged piece of debris out unto the village, the plants, everything.  
The blackened summit sank into a depression, leaving a new, molten and jagged rock-face in its place. Ryu was forced off the peak and made use of his grace to easily adapt into a glide.  
He rode the breeze until impacting the ground on the other side. The surface cracked under him, leaving a crater.

Separated by such distance, he couldn't stop himself from feeling just a little panicked.

Backing away into a tree, the man slumped down on its trunk. He recognized that he would need to keep moving. From this point forward, he was the primary nemesis of Mugen Tenshin.

Fear and despair crept upon him while his iron façade broke down. It's barriers embraced mortal sentiments once more; the first in ages.

For this one, short period, he fully remembered what it felt like to perceive his emotions . . . and came to loathe himself.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

 **For notes, see the Manifest.**

Thank you for reading. Like always, reviews are appreciated.


	8. Devil Clash

**-Present Day-**

* * *

Dante swung his blade sideways at his opponent. The sword clamored against an opposing attack from it's blackened scythe.

A loud bang followed.

He had pulled out his gun and shot one round, but he missed.  
The cloaked demon quickly grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards itself, past it's head quickly, then siezed Dante around his waste.

Bringing him right up to it's face, it screeched a tortured howl that made his ears bleed.

"Aaah!" he yelled.

He lurched back and brought his knee forward into its chin.

A loud crunching noise rattled out.

The man flipped backwards and landed on his feet.

His grim enemy staggered away.

Both grimaced at their injuries but pressed forward.  
He attempted another stinger but the demon leaped over him, landing on a car.  
He quickly countered this move, aiming and shooting the gas tank.

An eruption of charred metal and flames materialized but the creature was unharmed. It flew out of the explosion at Dante; wildly dicing through the air with the elongated sickle.

The demon hunter quickly rolled away and dashed towards the face of a brick building.  
The inescapable frenzy came rushing after him, dicing through air unchallenged.  
He suddenly defied gravity, sprinting up the side of the wall.  
Pushing off, he landing numerous feet abroad as the dark fiend battered into the bricks.

It broke through into the building, but quickly jumped back out.

"Bastard . . ." It cried with it's snake-like voice.

Dante immediately charged forth toward it, his eyes running ruby with choler.

It bolted back, hovering off the ground, and flew upwards as the man raced ahead and leapt up to the roof to meet it.

They clashed when scaling the wall and matched each other with an opposing set of strikes.

As they ascended, the night sky was lit up only by an incomparably bright full moon, cascading natural luminescence all around the city.

Light also emanated from the buildings, battling for supremacy against the stellar deity in the sky.  
This created a strange blue hue that seemed to blot out the stars completely, making for a dark, suffocating atmosphere.

He attacked with a downward blow. This was parried with an unexpected skill.  
His feet touched the roof for a fraction of a second before he vaulted off and attacked again with a fast-paced billow of swings in what could only be described as a hate-filled aerial rave.

Numerous flecks of preternatural blood sloshed over the place, landing beneath them as he cut and cut.

It returned back to the ground, and yet, kept moving as Dante carried on swinging.  
The two, remaining in time with one another, jumped the gap of the alleyway below and onto the next rooftop as their blitz intensified.

Bringing it's scythe down and away for an upward laceration storm. He blocked it by bringing the hilt into a close guard.

Although it almost knocked the blade from his hand, he managed to hold on and resisted the opposing pressure, with the opposing weapon scraping against the flat of the sword instead.

Brilliant sparks danced by as both armaments clashed over and over.

The battle took them high above the unsafe streets where mortals roved. Seemingly endless was the struggle; it carried its way at least several blocks from the hospital.  
The wind had become cruel and unfavorable, flowing harshly against an already aged and addled city.  
Buildings almost began swaying as evil beings zipped by, above unaware citizens, who neither listened nor cared.

Eventually, Dante slashed horizontally twice against the demon's blue executioner, breaking the iron grip of it's meathook.  
He followed this up by reversing the grip of his brand, bringing it forth into an inverted slash technique.  
Slicing the severity all the way into its neck, he partially decapitated the beast, the momentum of which flung the two further into a rooftop botanical garden.

Blasting through the reinforced glass as though it were made of tissue paper, the Demon smashed the ground with little grace.

Flattening under the might of Dante's boots crushing into it's stomach, the already-weakened part of it's body shredded out completely.

The slayer's weight sent plasmatic paint onto the green plants, vividly clashing their color schemes.

It convulsed and spewed glowing, flaccid blood clots from it's mouth, all of them blue.  
He wrenched the sword free of the thing's neck and, maintaining his transposed grip, pointed the tip of the blade toward it's wounded throat and threatened to finish it through.

Having grown weary of constantly fighting this powerful vanguard, he spat in it's face.

"Don't move. Move and I take your head. You'll live in a nice little box buried below ground for all time . . . A place on my wall would at least put you to decorative use.  
Or I could send you down the river for the little fishy's. Fourth option is: I spare you from that fate and just send you back to hell. Only if you tell me what I want to know."

" . . . No . . . I will comply . . . Please, you've pro-ven far stronger than- . . . my-s e l f, what is it . . . you wi'sh to- . . . know?" It hissed at him.

"Who put you and your posse back on Earth? I banished the full-blooded years ago." Dante spat back with an uncharacteristic anger.

It cried in a strangely torn voice, "Ha ha, we can't have you know-ing that y e t. Bett'er luck . . . with ano-ther . . . ques-tion!" It spoke in a more direct manner than before.

"What the- Who is 'we'?" He asked in confusion.

"What . . . did I _JUST_ s a y? Ask-. . . some-thing e'lse."

It looked at him with a sickening grin, it's face still partially held up by the leather straps, as if it enjoyed the pain of these horrid injuries.  
One of the bands had been torn away during battle, revealing completely blackened nerves on it's face where flesh should've been.

It oddly spoke more clearly with such a deep, exposed gash.

"Alright, fine, if you insist. Why a hospital? Demons usually lurk in isolated areas, like the wilderness or islands." The white-haired man was aware that if some of their kind had plans,  
it would be next to impossible for him to drag out an answer about it. After all they couldn't truly die, there was no way to genuinely threaten them unless he talked somehow sending them to heaven  
(if it existed) or severing the head for . . . uses.

"Ah . . . yes . . . because it's a-n easy place to g a ther souls." The answer was as perplexing as it was simplistic.

"Souls? What for? Demons don't need souls, you can't use them for anything." Dante said.

"Ungewitt sêamere, smyltnes geonglic . . ." It spoke to him in old english.

This caught him completely off-guard.

"You're righ-t, Dan te! De-mons don't have a use for . . . t h e m." It merely laughed in his face, taunting with it's knowledge of a greater objective.

"Po'r, dram, abus'd Dante . . . you had the chance . . . to gain pow-er, re spect . . . 'mongst devils of the blackest 'rd'r. But n o w? You'l die . . . Syndrige."

Dante shot it in the groin.

It let out an indecipherable demonic swear.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Look at that. I didn't realize you were already messed up. Let's see- Maybe if I readjust . . ."

He pretended to fiddle with the gun and wound up blowing off the other testicle.  
The chunks splattered into it's robes, glowing from the outside.

It howled to something bestial, even more pained than before. He could see the vocal chords vibrate and gurgle out splotches of ichor.

"Wanna go back home?" He questioned.

The Demon nodded it's head in response.

"Good. Now, tell me what they're being used for." He said.

It looked strangely pensive.

"Cwildrof . . . They're being funneled . . . for an in-fer-nal . . . thres-hold gate."

It's face quickly twisted back into a bigger smile, the buckle on it's other cheek tearing slightly as it did so.

"Gate? What gate? You're already here!"

"Woul'd- êow ne brôðorscipe of undergietan? Next . . . question." It had spoken.

There was no sense in convincing it otherwise.

Dante groaned with frustration. The use of archaic language was grating on him, since he only knew a few words here and there.  
Mother was a linguaphile, insisting he learn at least some of it from an early age.

"Damn it. Fine . . . What _the_ _hell_ are you doing out in the open? Don't you know what the people on this planet are capable of when they're threatened? These aren't the rules."

This was a completely valid question.

Most demons preferred to tear down and control humans through manipulation and subterfuge behind the scenes, like possession, vices, corruption, murder, and other insidious shit like that.  
So why did this commune seemingly forget just about exactly everything about their cultural rules?

"Oh . . . t-h-a-t was simply-for . . . the'atrics . . . Just to send a message to you . . . and your friends.  
If I had . . . my way- I would have . . . turned the whore into a fuck-pup-pet. Sam fæstnian ðâgîet- Or bett'r still . . . ripped apart that nigg-"

It was interrupted from saying the intended racial slur by a sudden, violent shuriken to it's forehead.  
The object pierced the demon's skull and burst through the back.  
With the brain matter destroyed, it began disintegrating into ash.  
The remains flew away into the atmosphere as it's cacophonous laugh faded into the distance.

" . . . Oh, of course. Who did that?" Dante said aloud.

He stared around, looking back for the point of origin.

On an adjacent roof, he easily spotted the dark figure.

The stranger darted in through the glass hole in the ceiling, surprisingly much faster than he could see.  
It appeared the being had used teleportation of some kind, as the slayer didn't even hear a landing.  
He investigated over his shoulder and saw a man with a cloth mouthguard standing a few feet further.

"Well at least I can thank you for shutting him up. And you are?" Dante spoke casually.

The other man remained still and unmoving.

"Ryu." He replied sternly.

. . .

It was apparent that the ninja was going to be silent with him after a few moments.

" . . . and?" Dante pried at him, but he remained silent. "Not one for conversation, are ya? . . . oooookay then, I'm gonna leave."

Ryu immediately drew his katana and flashed towards Dante before he could turn away.

The slayer was startled back, this man moved at speeds far superior than his previous opponent.

"Whoa!" He said in surprise as he barely blocked the strike with his still reverse-gripped sword. "What's your malfunction, creep!?"

"That fiend you talked to, what business did you discuss?" He spoke calmly.

The lack of strain in his voice was mismatched to the high degree of physical exertion he was placing against Dante's sword.  
The strange, sudden dying down of the wind led him to become unnerved by the ninja.

"Business? Are you blind? I had to body slam that guy into a building to get him talking."

The response made Ryu more frustrated than he liked.

"Why didn't you kill him?" The man-in-black stated, zeroed in on Dante's neck.

Perplexed, he responded with a question, "You're not human are you?"

The stranger glanced away for a brief, emotional second, long enough that his opponent easily caught on.

"Hehe . . . I guessed as much. I was gonna let you leave, even after you oh-so suspiciously killed that demon-; well, kill is subjective here, but since you pushed it . . . that was most definitely not a _him._ "

"What?" He inquired, caught by the statement.

"When you asked why I didn't kill him. I was going to after I asked it a few more questions, but then you just had to . . . drop out of the sky . . .  
On top of that, you got the terminology wrong! If it ain't a succubus or an incubus, it doesn't have a gender, stupid. Well, excluding demon lords of course.  
If it's that powerful, they can self-assign themselves any sex they want.  
Or a half-human hybrid; they're born with a gend- The point is, as you can see, that was most definitely not any of the other things i mentioned."

The shinobi didn't really know what to make of the small rant, so Dante took the opportunity to readjust his grip and rammed his whole weight into the clash.

Both swords began to visibly heat up because of the opposing forces.  
The more sarcastic of the two broke the struggle by stepping forward and shoving the entire right side of his body forward.

Ryu was effectively forced backwards off his feet a few yards, but seemed unharmed.

"Now. As I said, step off goth-boy, I've got better things to take care of. Like completing that job . . . which I totally forgot about." Dante remembered.

He slapped his palm into his face before placing the sword on his back.  
The slayer quickly got lost in his own mind, pondering the order of things he needed to do, and how much time they would take.

Turning around, he spun on his heels and began dawdling away. As he rambled his way to the stairwell door, the slayer longed for freedom from the choking darkness.

Compartmentalization was cut short when a sudden, razor thud shot into his back.

Accompanied by the stab was a shockingly large amount of pain.

Biting his lip, he promptly spun about to say, in a condescending tone, "Ow! Why in the blood-soaked, protestant hell did'ya do that!?"

He ripped it out of his back. His healing kicked in but the pain did not fade.

Upon inspection of the item, "A shuriken, really? That's your gimmick?"

Dante wasn't often royally pissed, but he was just as much frustrated as he was spiteful.

He threw the object to the ground.  
Placing more conscious effort towards his regeneration, he began to rid himself of the discomfort.

"It's been soaked in sacred waters local to Japan. It's quite effective against all kinds of supernatural foes really, like greater fiends, gaja, ghuls . . . and archfiends. So, there's that." Ryu stated flatly.

His opponent stared at him without any reaction

" . . . You know what? It's time to bleed." Dante said as he grabbed and thrust Rebellion into a point at his ninja-foe.

The shinobi slid into his own usual stance, comfortably unafraid of the man.

They began their lunges and jumped towards each other, in the midst of a strange situation.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, at the hospital-**

* * *

Kasumi was sitting in the same chair, wondering why Ryu hadn't come back to at least check on her, if not the stranger they'd saved.

Worst fears lingered in the front of her mind, as these were skeptical times they lived in. The man in grey had not yet woke.  
An attractive blonde woman rushed by her door numerous times with redness in her face and bloodshot eyes.

She never got a good look at her face but she could have sworn once it looked like Tina Armstrong.

But Kasumi wouldn't bother her, not now anyway, even if it was who she thought it was.

Tina had always seemed so superficial and vain, only thinking about extrinsic rewards like money or stardom. She began reminiscing about all the battles she'd endured throughout the tournaments.

Becoming contemplative leant itself to many falsehoods, like Hayate's self aggrandizement.

She almost didn't realize it when the man on his hospital bed suddenly groaned.

"Aahhoww . . . Where are my clothes?" He said as he curiously examined his medical gown.

Kasumi snapped back to reality. Standing to check on his well-being, "Oh! Forgive that, the doctor's insisted you be dressed this way. How are you feeling?"

He did not say anything in response initially, rather he simply stared at her for a brief moment.  
Then, without delay, the man looked around the room, assessing his surroundings.

"Is something wrong?"

He still didn't answer; he got up and removed his drip. It didn't draw blood from the puncture. Being upright surprised Kasumi, who stood staring in disbelief at him for a moment.

"I guess that answers whether or not you're feeling better. Take it easy now." She said, attempting to calm and reassure the man.

Still, he remained silent, merely giving her a small look.

It was as if to say he acknowledged the presence of an object in that direction.

"Is this a hospital?" He said, almost interrogating her.

Kasumi nodded.

He briskly left without a word. Hastily cutting out of the room, the curious ninja followed him.

"Hey, wait a second! You have to stay and let them make sure you're okay, then we can leave." She said whilst keeping pace with him.

The stern fellow suddenly twisted back at her.

His face plainly read a look of rejection and confusion.

"'We?' There isn't a 'we' to talk about. I travel alone." The words cut a bit deeper than they should have. He continued walking on.

The amber-eyed beauty refused to stop following him, almost outraged at his attitude.

"Excuse me! If it weren't for me, you would have bled out in a random back street! If you're so disrespectful that you can't even keep my company, you could at least tell me your name!"  
She sharply stated. The man couldn't deny, it was a fair point. He could have at least been grateful enough to make conversation.

The stranger responded to her anger with equal intensity.

"I do not need to tell you anything. You were useful, but I owe you nothing! Now, leave me be. Go help someone else, if you must." His incredibly rude treatment of her was appalling.  
In front of everyone else, no less. Others began looking at them, wondering why they were arguing in the middle of a crowded hospital.

He kept up his stride, eventually reaching the ground floor. Defiantly, Kasumi pursued him still, refusing to leave him alone as requested.  
Staying silent, the man often ignoring her when she tried to talk to him.

The man walked up to the receptionist and interrupted her call.

"Excuse me, I need my items back please." He said hurriedly. Although he did try to be nice about it, the employee, visibly annoyed, asked him to sit down, saying she'd take him later.

This did not go over well.

He slammed her phone back down on the receiver after ripping it from her hands. Afterward, he looked her straight in the eyes and said, in a low, gruff tone, "Give. Me. My clothes."

The receptionist threatened to call security but he rolled with it.

"Good. Do it, I'll beat them senseless and then ask again. How long do you want to jerk around until I get tired of you?" The man snapped at her. He was in no mood to be subjected to incompetence.  
No sooner would he bash the receptionist's head into the wall than let himself be stopped by her gross self-importance.

The receptionist meekly said to him, "Uhm . . . I'll see what I can do about that."

She quickly hurried off after saying this. As she did so, Kasumi criticized him for his brashness.

"You know, that's not the best way to deal with people. You shouldn't be so hot-headed, it'll get you into trouble." She said. He initially ignored her until she said the words 'hot-headed.'

The mysterious man turned his head, "Go away."

She scowled back at him.

The receptionist returned holding boxes filled with his personal items and a chunk of paperwork.

"Fill this out, sir." She said.

The man took the clipboard and snapped it in half effortlessly. He handed it back to her and took the boxes. As he walked away, she left again to inform her superior's.  
He entered the bathroom and changed whilst Kasumi waited outside. When he exited, he was dressed in his plain, sleeveless grey gi once more.  
He was wearing, oddly enough, dark, shin-high leather boots and a black undershirt that came down to just above his elbows.  
The man left the boxes in the bathroom, finished putting on his blackened leather wristbands, and fastened his dingy coat. The overall length came down to slightly below his knees.

Stuffing an object into one of his pockets, he continued his stride over to the doors. They slid open, and so the cold, polluted air hit him like a freight train.  
Kasumi felt gutted by the lack of life in the air. There wasn't any seeming vegetation for miles.  
Nevertheless, she followed yet again as he began making his way across the parking lot. He kept his irrational gaze away from her, phasing in and out of sight as he walked through darkness and lot lights.

She raised her voice, yelling, "Hey! Where the hell are you going?"

"You don't listen well, do you? Get lost!" He yelled back at her.

Her face reddened with shame and anger. She would not stand by and allow some person to be so rough towards her.

"Alright, that's it! I've been nothing but nice and accommodating to you, and all you've done in return is stomp on me like a doormat!  
Either you treat me with respect or I'll put you back in that hospital myself!" Kasumi grandly declared.

The man laughed and spun around to face her.

"You know, you have some mighty nerves to be laying down that kind of threat." His gruff approach pushed her to fumes.

"Yep! That's it!" She screamed as she started to run toward him. At full speed, the Kunoichi sprung from the ground and delivered a powerful kick to his chest.  
He went sailing across the blacktop, pancaking against the side of a large van.  
The vagrant was strong, but her kick was something else entirely. He felt the air in his lungs pop out.

'How can someone who looks like her be so powerful?' He thought to himself as he fell to ground, leaving an deep dent in the side of the vehicle.

Scrounging around for a bit, the man picked himself up onto his feet.

As he took a moment to recover, Kasumi approached, beginning to admonish him.

"I should have left you to die. Ryu was right. This was a meaningless excursion that went nowhere. Go back to the hospital if you think you need to.  
I won't save you again." She said with absolute seriousness.

Incredibly, he laughed at her threat and stood tall, "You've got enough to back up that tongue, I am impressed."

The man re-evaluated her physical appearance. He found himself noticing that she was much more attractive than he first thought.

"I concede that you're indeed stronger than me, and for that, you've earned my respects." He said as he observed her expression of anger turn to one of doubt.

"Well . . . thank you for the compliment, but my statement remains the same." She said.

"Akira." The man said.

"Pardon?" She replied.

"Earlier. When you told me I should at least-. . . it's Akira. Akira Yuki." He said. Akira was tall and of a muscular build. He had tan skin and harsh, defined facial features. With a voice deep and smooth, alongside spiky hair that was shorter than it has been before, the man was indeed the fighter known as Akira who fought in the less mainstream World Fighting Tournaments of the past.

"The Akira Yuki of the Second World Fighting Tournament!? I had only heard about him. I didn't know that he- well, you were so . . ." She faltered in speech for a second.

"So handsome?" He asked in a half-joking manner.

"What? No. So angsty." Kasumi said. She was rather concerned that he apparently had an attraction to her. From what he showed her of his personality,  
she didn't really like him all that much.

In fact, she wondered why she really felt so compelled to try to help him in the first place.

Well, she knew, of course, that her basic motivation was to do a good deed. And, true, she did indeed feel good about her action when she first saved him. But she couldn't handle his attitude.

'Why is he so guarded and mean towards others?' This thought spun her off onto a new question.

'What happened to make him like that?'

Amidst these questions rapidly flooding her brain, Kasumi suddenly remembered that she was still waiting for Ryu, who had disappeared like always.

"Sir! Get down on the ground!" A voice called out. Both looked around to suddenly find police surrounding them.

"Both of you, get on your knees with your hands up . . . Now!" It called again.

"See? I told you that wasn't the best way to deal with people." Kasumi said as she prepared for a scrap.

Akira looked at her with an indifferent expression and said, "Just fight."

* * *

 **-New York City- DOATEC HQ**

* * *

It was nighttime at DOATEC headquarters.

Bayman was deciding on how the structure of this tournament would be. He'd shaved and showered, stripping him of the daily daze that purveyed usually as a tired, rugged man.  
He was 39 years old now.  
In the first few years back, he'd gained some weight when he joined DOATEC. Since then he'd worked it off but every once in a while he got paranoid about his figure. It was an odd little vanity thing.

He decided a more rigorous training regiment was necessary to make a healthy return.

The virus outbreak, years ago, was certainly a strange one.

It caused _so_ much damage. Destruction ruled by way of fear. Receiving the first figures for casualties sent him into immediate cardiac arrest.  
The thing killed over a million people, yet it's origin had been erased . . .

This 'Heikki Virus' was employed as a way of distracting DOATEC. It worked, making the possibility of a sneak attack against them.

The infection was the same one that was used to contaminate the Mugen Tenshin ninja clan, preventing them from interfering.

In the meantime, he was struggling with finding a suitable new format for a fifth tournament.  
It had to be something new rather than culturally played out.  
He knew he didn't want the battles to feel detached but he was also seriously reconsidering his original ideas.

'An island's been done before, people would be expecting something stupid . . . like scantily clad women . . . and oh, how they would dance . . . What was I talking about?  
Oh yeah. We could do a big arena! . . . just like the last five times. I wonder if a casino could work . . .' He kept thinking to himself.

"Bayman, sir. Permission to speak?" An approaching soldier sternly spoke.

"Yes, what is it, comrade?" The Russian replied in his strangely indiscriminate, Russian-less-American accent.

"There's been a strange incident in west Edgemere, sir. A large degree of property damage and civilian casualties has been reported." The mercenary said.

Bayman was rather distracted at the moment but his attention was fully drafted when he heard death mentioned.

" . . . How many?" He asked calmly but unsure.

"Around twenty-seven in civilians and thirteen in law enforcement. That's not all. Cars were reportedly flipped over, victims were burned or 'cleaved' in half by an unknown bioweapon.  
There also appeared to be a few detonated car bombs. Security camera feeds show nothing but static and weird . . . inhuman gargles and moans."

He almost stumbled over his words, taking a moment to calm down.

"The recordings pick back up after about twenty minutes." The man finished.

"What do you mean by 'inhuman' groans?" Bayman inquired.

"Well, uh . . . viewings of the tapes show . . . show a kind of presence on the feed. We reviewed it three times and, um, the thing is . . ." The mercenary suddenly became very nervous.  
He felt insane for even mentioning this to his superior, however, he felt he needed to share it to keep himself sane.

Bayman looked in strange anticipation.

"The sounds are never the same each viewing. Th-. . . The footage is always different than before." The man said, his face becoming red.  
He felt emasculated by the situation. How could he be afraid of a piece of video? He forced himself to straighten up but his face remained flushed.

Bayman took notice.

"It's a video, that's preposter- Fuck it, show me." He replied.

* * *

 **-Two Viewings Later-**

* * *

Bayman sat stifled.

The mercenary subordinate told him that the video seemed to be getting more corrupted. Every time it was played, a strange shadow would appear occasionally.  
And each viewing, the sounds had become louder and louder; getting further and further up in the mix, above the static.

He said that if the film contains no information, they should simply destroy it, but one of the others disagreed.

"We should keep it, it seems to be getting clearer each time, like the sounds are coming through better. If we destroy it, it may hinder any official investigation! You can't deny that!"  
The odd-soldier-out argued.

"The feed is useless and there's no damn time! Besides . . . it's . . . unnerving. We should destroy it, if not for it's lack of worth, then for all our own sake's. You've seen the other men!  
They feel . . . tainted inside after seeing it. Like something . . . something was trying to leap out of the screen and take them over." Bayman reasoned.

His descriptions of the events were putting it mild. The first signs of trouble occurred when one member of personnel became sick, vomiting profusely until his bile ran red, leading to hospitalization.

The next flag came when others began having personality changes.

Bayman even felt the footage's influence, though he wouldn't admit it. He had to put the tournament concepts on hold in order to solve the problems at hand.  
The soldier he was arguing with now had been the first to see it: Vanessa, her name was.

She had a darker complexion but light, luscious hair. She was built for strength, possessing beefy thigh muscles and an athletic frame overall.  
Others remarked upon the superficial 'look' that she and him generated when next to each other, as her body-type complimented his own tall, muscular build.

He indeed felt her very much attractive. Their relationship had gone deeper than the simple boss/flunky dynamic.

The two had first become involved with each other four years prior.

Their personal relationship was troubled by work often, but they maintained close romanticism whenever they could.

Now however, their relations were once again being tested.

"Yes, I'm aware of the strange things that have happened, but it has yet to be proven that it's influencing anyone else! Just a few more times!  
We may be able to find out what happened! Hell, the government got there first and they were told by the U.N. to give it to us to investigate! Us; DOATEC, of all companies." Vanessa argued.

She was insistent that she be the one to continue viewing the video.  
Just then, the others sent a message via the intercom to him, alerting that the transport he ordered was prepped and ready for departure.

He reluctantly began grabbing his swat gear.

"We can find out more when we get on the scene and conduct a first hand investigation. Just . . . please, get rid of it. It's not worth obsessing over. You're fixation is frightening me.  
I don't want this to change you." Bayman pleaded.

He rarely showed emotions toward her on the job, but in this particular case, he knew something was sinisterly wrong.

The Russian finished prepping, then parted ways with her, believing his message would get through.

As he walked down the hallways, it nagged him in the back of his mind that she may choose to watch the tape more.

She was one of those loyal-yet-free-spirited types.

If it was having strange effects on even him, let alone the others, then there wasn't any way of knowing what it could do to her.  
But he felt he could trust her.

That said, he placed a no-viewing moratorium down on everyone, just to make sure. The tape was locked inside the vault just in case.

Walking all the way to the launchpad, he rendezvoused with the others at the transport.

They exchanged nervous jokes and promptly took off into the sky, towards the mysterious happening.

* * *

 **-At the rooftop garden-**

* * *

Dante struck hard and wound up cutting several thick plants in half.  
His blade sliced cleanly through and impacted the dragon sword.

A loud clang rung out and Ryu quickly countered with a forward horizontal slash. It sliced Dante's cheek open and the area immediately felt scorching pain.  
He was stunned a bit, and the ninja brought his katana into his usual stance, then rapidly jabbed him several times in the chest and shoulders;  
the slayer unable to fight back due to his sword leaving his hands.

These little pokes felt excruciating. They culminated in a deep stab through his supernatural heart.  
The sword glided right through him and out his back several inches, easily puncturing his aorta. The man held his gaze on Dante's face.

Halfway demonically, he gasped in shock, staring into the cold, emotionless eyes of the shinobi.

The man proceeded to roundhouse kick him in the face, ricocheting him out the side of the building.

He wound up crushing a parked SUV.  
Shards of tempered glass flew in every direction as smooth metal, once functional, turned warped and bent, jagged.

He felt a sharpened piece of the car's roof rip into his back and slice open his side. The simultaneous impact of his right temple on the vehicle caused his skin to instantly split apart and bleed.  
Against his back, the rib cage cracked and compressed forward into his lungs. His liver was hit hard too, partially liquefying as a result of the high fall.

Meanwhile, his right cheek bone snapped in half, with his arms and legs suddenly becoming numb to feeling.

Ryu felt confident he had defeated his opponent, and yet . . . he decided to check just in case.

He took the man's claymore with him after sheathing his own blade and rode down the side of the building with cat-like elegance.  
He landed and observed the seemingly lifeless man.

"This isn't right . . . you should have been much stronger." Ryu said aloud as he inspected the oversized sword in his hands.  
Beginning to walk away, he suddenly heard coughing and rustling, dented metal.

Turning slowly, Hayabusa saw Dante was indeed picking himself back up.

He was resetting the bone.

Though it would naturally do so itself, he aided the process along in order to quicken the procedure.  
Bloodied and angry, the inhuman climbed off the top of the car.  
Giving an intense stare at the person who had done this to him, he slouched in horrible pain as he did so.

"You took my sword. Bad decision. I'll give you credit. I haven't experienced pain like this since New Years Eve, 'bout seven years ago. Demons were still walking around back then.  
You know, it's funny. I kinda . . . tend to forget about that time. I was faster back then. Had to survive and all." He said as he had to take a small moment for his back and internal organs to heal.

"You'll forgive me if I'm rusty. It's been a good long while since I had a difficult challenge, so my abilities have sort of eroded.  
Well, and I don't have my _best_ weapons on me, but still." He was almost casual.

Ryu scoffed at him. "Did you talk this much back then, too?"

"I was worse than this actually." Dante acerbically muttered.

"I should've cut off your tongue had I known you were going to survive that. At least then I would have some temporary peace." He said. This made little sense to his silvery opponent.  
He wasn't one to run his mouth, at least not anymore. He was furious.

"Maybe you should use that little blade ya got there on yourself. It would save you from what comes next." Dante said with a deeper tone.

Ryu remained unfazed.

"No. You don't have enough power to beat me. Tell me what you're up to. I saw you fighting that fiend, who do you work for?" The ninja asked: still calm and stoic.

He didn't respond. Instead he simply summoned up his special faculty, as best he could. He was much less distracted now that his wounds were healed.

Dante manifested stylized black and red tattoos' on his upper torso and his eyes turned crimson, but did not glow their usual evil energy.  
His thick but athletic musculature expanded subtly.  
Though it didn't look like much, Ryu could tell that he was different than before.

"Not as impressive as you think, boy." The dishonored rebel said. This visibly upset his opponent more.

"I'm no boy. Get your eyes checked or I'll rip em out." Dante said in a more bestial, low-end voice. His smooth baritone had become a rough, angry growl.  
He teleported forward, forcibly seizing his blade back from Ryu's hand. He shot back into place and smirked slightly.

"If I wanted to keep your sword, I wouldn't have let you do that." Ever tranquil and poised was the ninja.

Dante got angry again and the two suddenly darted forward so fast that, had there been any humans around, they would either been killed or simply wouldn't be able to keep up.

The two exchanged slashes evenly, but were able to avoid them.

They disappeared into intense blurs and sonic impacts, which began exploding from nowhere all over the lot.  
The battle rose high, with many blasts occurring mid air as they relentlessly charged one another. The attacks broke through street lamps and shattered a few windows.  
Dante eventually managed to get the upper hand briefly.

He filled Rebellion with rushed force and managed to knock the Dragon Sword clear out of his hand.

It sliced through the air, impaling the hood of another nearby automobile.

He brought the blade up with superhuman speed, and sliced downwards at Ryu, only for the ninja to suddenly phase backwards, leaving behind a purple afterimage.

The slayer missed, cracking the pavement into a mile-long spiderweb, and the ninja quickly grabbed his katana.

It still stuck out from the vehicle behind him.

He hastily had to bring himself and the sword up for a matching block against a second downward strike.  
A large shockwave shot outwards and shattered all the car windows around them.

Dante was holding strong and grinning with malice.  
The ninja remained stoic.

"How you holdin' up?" Dante mockingly quipped.

Ryu remained negligent to his sarcasm, "I'm fine."

He broke the clash with another shove but this time attempted a decapitation. The shinobi simply vanished.  
Looking up, he saw the guy somehow teleported to the top of an eighteen-wheeler semi-trailer's sleeper truck.

"Okay. How do ya do that, seriously?" Dante inquired jokingly.

"You just did a bunch of that with me." Ryu replied, unimpressed.

The silver-haired man attacked again, surging his way on top of the truck, but his swing was redirected down with the katana, causing him to carve into the engine block.  
Both were blown apart as the tractor exploded.

While Hayabusa was flung up in the air, his enemy was thrust into the ground on his back, grinding several meters across the lot.  
The slayer lifted himself off the ground with one forceful push of his arm.

. . . And was forced to immediately defend himself.

A massive, crimson-tinged inferno-blare nearly hit him square in the face.

He cut the attack in half but it's remaining salvo continued to travel forward and charred the edges of his coat.

"Aw, I just got this repaired!" An exasperated demon killer exclaimed.

Looking at his jacket though, he could see that it had been already damaged from his various other activities earlier.

"Right, never mind then . . ." He said in vexation.

Ryu was standing atop a lamppost, illuminating the area. He could see Dante's humanistic character made him somewhat different from fiends he had faced before.  
He was certainly strong, but he lacked the demonic visage that plagued most monsters he had faced.

The personality was also a lot more down-to-earth.

He suddenly got a sharp reminder of the bloodbath he'd enacted during his meditation earlier.

They were friend's he knew, innocents he protected. He returned his mind to present times and saw that his adversary was gearing up for another round.  
He put his mental struggles away and refocused his offense as the two darted towards each other once again, even faster than before.

A visible combustion of torrential, barely-contained radiation burst from thin air. It was predominantly clear but also contained pale red and green hues.  
The combatants remained suspended, refusing to break stride.

Each of their thick irons began to heat up once more, as their attacks continued, neither ceasing their indomitable rages.

Sparks soared in all directions.

Dante held his disturbing smirk, as if he found great joy in the fighting.

Ryu recognized this but it only served to make him more stone-faced.  
The mouth guard helped him seem more emotionless than he really was.

He took no pleasure in battle, he garnered no respect nor honor from it anymore, and he chose not to allow sentiment to cloud his mind again.

The weapons reaped-tension boiled over so much that even the handles had become scorching hot, singeing both of their hands in the process.  
Eventually, he allowed the slayer to win their power struggle, pushing himself back several feet in the process.

Still suspended in the air, Dante wound up flying forward, attempting a secondary slash at him, but the ninja proved too swift.

He utilized the speed boost again to reach the building surface instead.

Pushing off, he shattered the glass as he zoomed back forward, underneath the hybrid, catching him by the leg, all in under a few milliseconds.  
He successfully clasped on and pulled the pale aggressor in the opposite direction.

The complete break in speed culminated in automatically losing momentum and Dante being flung at maximum velocity the other way.

His body sailed an entire chain (66 feet) and bulldozed through concrete, metal, glass, wood, moulding, and steel rebars.

He broke through the other side and tumbled through several cars.

His flight ended when he hit the ground and then skid several more meters across the street, leaving a scarlet path behind.

He coughed up blood instantly. He tried to turn himself over, but felt a massive puncture wound in his chest. He struggled greatly.  
Managing to still turn himself on his side, he placed his arm gently down on the ground for support.  
The man looked down to the black, lifeless tar on the street and coughed again.  
This time, pain traveled all the way through his body as the agony began to register in his nervous system.

At least five teeth fell out.

Both his legs were broken, with bone fragments stabbing out his skin in strange places.

He climbed forward in agony, attempting to grab his sword, which lay a few feet out of reach.

It was sticking perfectly out of the ground; it's tip plunged through the street and it's handle stretching up skyward.

He constantly uttered pained noises of desperation while continuing to pull himself ahead.  
If he could just reach his sword, he could use it as a leg to stand on at least.

Ryu suddenly appeared from the shadows. He glared at Dante, who stared back in a mixture of anger and self-loathing.  
Though he had been injured greatly, he had already begun to try to heal himself.  
Many of his broken bones had already snapped painfully back into place, righting themselves.

His half-healed legs enabled him to get to his feet somewhat, though it was agonizing.

The silver-haired swordsman stumbled forward and reclaimed Rebellion.

He began swinging it around while muttering incoherent sentences.

Ryu dodged many of these blurred swings but noted that Dante actually was managing to somehow aim his strikes correctly in spite of his current state.  
As was evidenced when he received a small cut on his arm, unexpectedly. Shocked, he instantly reacted with his own sword and skewered Dante through his right wrist, causing him to drop the brand.

"Gehh!" He screamed, as blinding grief shuffled through his veins.

He drove it several inches through, causing him to scream even more. The red Cambion stumbled back off balance, but the ninja kept him standing up by his shirt.

Ryu looked into his eyes without remorse and extended his hand from a fist into an open palm to touch the man's chest.

"I wish I could be sorry, but I don't have enough left to feel that anymore." He said, as he prepared to finish him with a Void ninpo strike.

"Feel . . . this!" Dante said as he jammed his forehead into the man's face.

The ninja stumbled back, his vision blurring into stars. Having surprised him, it was stunning to such a degree that he lost his iron grip on the Dragon Sword.

Feeling his left arm endowed with strength once more, the slayer used it to deliver an out-of-nowhere punch that damn near broke Ryu's cheek.  
He then delivered a speedy, agile front-kick with his right that completely severed him from his blade, as the powerful man was forced to stall back.

Though relatively unharmed, as he turned his sight back to his opponent, he saw him remove the weapon and throw it aside.

He granted this demon's wish and prepared for unarmed combat.

Dante knew it wasn't looking good for him.

He decided however, that if he was going to lose, it was going to be on his own terms.

His leg was limping, the front kick having re-broken a few un-mended bone spurs in his femur, fibula and tibia.  
It wasn't helped by his being covered in blood, with cuts and bruises in various spots.

They began engaging in a cycle of circling each other as they tried to thinking of battle strategies under their new conditions.

Always the brash one, the white-haired man struck first after he had healed enough.

Ryu caught his straight punch and countered with a split-second roundhouse kick.

To his surprise, the man managed to duck back out of the way and followed with a spun elbow, twisting around and hitting him in the side of his head.  
His second injury was a small gash on the side of his temple. It, much like the cut, did not regenerate itself.

What happened to his tolerance for pain?

They returned to encircling each other.

Pondering more strategies, both also bought enough time to heal until they felt comfortable. This time, the exiled shinobi attacked first.

Dante defended the fists with a series of trapping hands, one, two, then three.  
After the third movement, he struck him in his chest when an opening had presented itself.  
He made sure to hit as hard as he could each time.

The man grabbed his breast in pain, the first visible acknowledgement of this that the man had displayed all night.  
He attacked again, this time with cutting paws.

The inhuman blocked both, then seized Ryu's forearms without warning as he kicked an incoming leg back down and forced his whole body back with one powerful movement.

The ninja attempted a series of mid-section strikes but was met with another set of confining palms that pulled his limbs down and to the left,  
leaving him open for a lightning-fast suckerpunch in the face.

He staggered, but attempted another attack. The handsome devil switched hands and jabbed him in the jaw.

Ryu rubbed his face as he re-thought his strategy. He knew Dante's tactics well, having been trained for just such an occasion.  
But there was something about his speed and unpredictability that was throwing him off somehow.

The man clearly knew how to fight, but he'd fight dirty every once in a while.

Maybe that was it?

The Cambion threw out his sleeves and clenched his hands into burning fists, his stance unforgiving.

Launching into a heated assault, the man in black began moving significantly quicker, intending to trap his rival in a mistake.

Dante countered every single blow with an equally strong, frenetic punch or block.

The two moved in an inky, crimson blur as they relentlessly pounded their fists against one another.  
Ryu's knuckles blistered after a while. Dante eventually managed to break the struggle when he evaded one of the strikes and then kneed him in his abdomen.  
The damage dazed him with great affect, allowing his combatant to ruthlessly fling a series of vicious, full-strength attacks.

A minute went by as the pale man unleashed a brutal beatdown, the likes of which Ryu had never received before.  
He felt an elbow grind into his side and a knuckle drive into his shoulder as a boot crushed his cheek.

At one point, he assumed a crane position and pummeled the warrior's face with a barrage of kicks.

He followed this with a downward fist that turned him sideways, and then three more punts to his face within one second.  
Afterward, he mainly focused on his head, palm-thrusting his neck to stop the flow of oxygen.  
He then welted his face seven times with a few rapid hooks and a vicious, right haymaker.  
The next attack was another elbow at his cheek, and then a flurry of punches that seemingly knocked him to the floor and bloodied his face.

When he was around a foot above it, the slayer sent him straight into the tar with a final, hardened, right-handed swing.

It was his dominant hand.

He hit the ground so hard that the street cracked around him in a five meter radius.

Dante's knuckles were bloodied, his foe down for the count.

Out of breath, he chanted once, "I made you _bleed_. Have fun."

He turned to walk away and strolled over to his sword, grabbing the hilt and effortlessly lifting it up.  
Just as he placed it on his back, he checked his mouth and felt that, for the most part, he was primarily regenerated.

They ached badly, it had been forever since the last time he lost any teeth.

He began making his way away but his hope of having won was shot down when he heard a clear voice speak to him.

"That isn't going to cut it. You need more than that to beat me." Ryu said.

Dante turned to face him, confusion carved out on his face.

"Well, thats another first. You really think after that little beating you can match me?"

The shinobi rose up and swiped his hand, snatching the Dragon Sword off the ground into his possession without even moving.  
Though his wounds were healing on their own, he summoned a small pale energy in his free palm that repaired his wounds in seconds.

"Enough joking around. That wasn't even close to what I can do." The ninja spoke cooly in his smooth manner.

He sheathed his sword and struck another fighting stance.

"If you say so, who am I to object?" The devil said before Ryu instantly darted forward, faster than he could perceive.

Dante was surprisingly slapped across the face and then felt his left arm break.

He howled at the sky as his attacker hoisted him up and began machine-gun-punching him so hard that fragments of his clothing broke off on impact.  
Grabbing his other arm, he batted him with an uppercut into the air as shadows sliced at him from every angle in a blinding few seconds.

Still hovering off the ground, the man attempted to block a downward stab but this turned out to be ruse to distract him.  
He felt a knee jut up into his back.

Ryu flung his leg so hard that he flipped completely in the air after the pressure against the man's body released.

Skyrocketing into the atmosphere, the impact left behind a sonic wave.

Dante was grabbed mid-air by Hayabusa, who caught up and repositioned him vertically.

They flew together, back to back as the dark ninja locked his arms into his.

Soaring high enough, Ryu pushed backwards and tilted them down, riding the angle until they vertically capsized upside down, perfectly straight.

Unprepared for what was about to happen, the american was spun around increasingly fast as they descended.

A tornado formed around them, until, finally, they hit the ground at maximum velocity.  
The surface cracked open. Chunks of road burst in all directions.

Four large, jagged pillars of swirling black energy fanned up from the ground, diagonally away, from the epicenter of the impact.

From the smoke, he was thrown out onto the cracked street. Dante felt his neck and collarbone were splintered, but forced himself up.  
He took a few seconds to fully comprehend what just happened to him. Every time he moved, sickening snaps and crunches could be heard.  
Turning to look, he was met with a Piercing Void blast.

It convulsed sparks of electromagnetic fury, then exploded into a brilliant black-purple-blue shower of radiance.

At the center was a grievously injured Dante, who flopped back onto the ground.

Rebellion was blasted off from his back several meters. He crashed to his knees. Each time a muscle visibly ruptured, it cracked like a whip.  
He fell onto his chest, twisting over to the direction of his weapon.

Beginning to inch his way towards it in a futile attempt to reclaim the brand, he forced his mutilated vessel to act.

'Damn it . . . No.' He thought to himself, lamenting that he didn't make sure Ryu was dead with a gunshot.

Stuck in the same position he was in just a few moments ago, his oppressor walked towards him.

Ryu was surprised when his target suddenly pulled out a gun and shot him in the bicep. He faltered back a bit.

The wound stung thanks to it's demonic origin, but also hurt more thanks to being caught off-guard.  
Leavin an abrasion on his skin and a surface cut; the projectile basically just made a vicious bruise.

"Attacking with guns now? You really are beyond pathetic." He said as the man began unloading more bullets.

Dodging this time, he was able to easily avoid them all and arrived with his boot crashing down on his wrist.

Picking him up, he was met with a shove that managed to break the hold.

The beaten soul nearly fell on his back but, incredibly, managed to stay upright.

They returned to fighting hand to hand again, but this time, he wasn't half as resilient, his abilities strained and broken down.

An exchange of blows.

Somehow, he landed another direct hit on Ryu's face.  
The ninja glared back at him, his mask fallen down, exposing his countenance. The strike had done nothing.

Dante was jabbed in his left pectoral and then kicked in the abdomen.  
Clutching himself, he felt the pain vibrate throughout him.  
Receiving two more stifled boots to his face, he felt his jaw pop out of position.

He refused to give up, though.

Immediately countering with another right swing, his haymaker was easily caught and Ryu slid into a strong elbow that shattered the whole of his rib cage.

He rested on top of his shoulder, the air blown literally out of him.

"Get off." He said.

The man in black delivered a lightning fast, jabbing-back kick up to his head, causing the man to be lifted off. He stood in a dazed state.

His enemy executed a meteoric five punch combo that culminated in the slayer nearly exploding.  
Managing to keep his balance by holding on to the ninja's clothes, the man felt dizzy like nothing before. Agitated slightly, he pulled his red opponent towards him and then to the right.  
He waited to strike just after a dazed Dante passed by him. Promptly, he kicked him in his side.

The maneuver destroyed his recuperating torso. Crumpling in place, he toppled over.

He felt bamboozled. Who was this man who called himself Ryu? He had to be a Cambion like himself.

The union of a demon and a human: unnatural beings of dust and grime. The deceptively human visage masked a hideous stillborn.  
An encroaching, rotten persona that couldn't be given to feel even if it tried.  
It took the sheer genetic compassion of Dante's mother to give him any kind of humanity.

So he didn't look like that. He was always human.

His father, or what little he remembered of him, was strong, harsh but fair; a guiding influence of morality in the confines of demonic nature.

But where as Dante was a unique exception due to his parents, most demon-human hybrids were born out of lust and sin, not love.  
This must not've been one of the better ones.

The man could clearly see the cold, deadness in his eyes as Hayabusa grabbed him by his severely frayed jacket lapels.  
He lifted the half-breed up but was socked in the face.

It was a futile effort by the demon hunter to get free.

Ryu performed a quick boot to the legs that caused Dante to become completely horizontal in the air briefly.

The super ninja delivered a second, rotating kick to the head that sent his opponent sailing through the air like lightning. He tore through a light pole and landed head first on the ground.

Cracking bones emanated from his body while the ones remaining intact proceeded to liquefy.

He couldn't even move anymore, as he witnessed the strange ninja he seemed once so confident about fighting, walk to him, katana in hand.  
Dante forcibly climbed to his knees, his disintegrated bones and various fragments goring through his muscles and his veins in something beyond words.

He was trembling all over, the pain so great it caused him to involuntarily spasm numerous times.

Though it was lucky that he couldn't die from these injuries, it sucked hardcore that he had to live through them.

He manually reset the bones in his arms again and looked up to meet the silent stare of his killer.

Dante glowered at him with pure rage and disgust, a final refusal to die.

"Killing you with my sword would be a kindness you don't deserve." Ryu said.

He sheathed the blade once more and showcased his hands in front of himself as he suddenly summoned amethyst aura.  
Clenching his arms simultaneously, he performed a strange series of movements and finger-tutting with his hands before settling on a specific signal.

With his index and middle fingers outstretched together to the sky and his left arm fully elongated, he released both his palms forward.

Then he slammed his palm on the ground.

An immense explosion detonated outward into atomic, violet energy.  
It destroyed buildings, incinerated cars and killed many pedestrians, something Ryu was entirely aware of.  
As it blasted outwards, the power circled up and back around to the focal point, imploding in on itself while it jutted in all directions.

Eventually, it came to a halt, and, in an unanticipated, jerk reaction, erupted upwards into a massive column of searing red plasma.

All that was left in its wake was dust, rubble and a solitary man.

Ryu walked away, completely unharmed, as ash began falling from the sky like it were snow.

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

Notes in the Manifest.

Thank you.


	9. The Decision

**-In a Hospital Parking Lot-**

* * *

Akira had evaded gunfire successfully as he had beaten most police officers attempting to use tasers and batons.

Things got so bad that when more showed up they were _wearing_ _riot gear._

Kasumi didn't even attempt to step in at first, as his complete fury towards the security team proved to be effective all on its own.

However as backup arrived with guns in addition to actual, well-armed EPD officers, he knew it might be time to simply abandon ship.  
She stayed in the fight a bit longer, using her great flexibility to evade the rushing bullets but also decided to leave when she was unwilling to kill innocent patrolmen.

They both evaded the squad but wound up having been chased down to an alleyway and subsequently cornered.

"Well, any ideas?" The abrasive former-champion asked.

"Yes. Don't talk to people like that, again." Kasumi responded.

"I don't have time for their emotions." He said callously as a small battalion of heavily armed police officers surrounded the two.

Akira put his hood on and began searching for a way out. The two had become entrapped within a dark old apartment complex due for demolition.  
Sirens and angry police could be heard storming the building.

They continued to wander the halls away from the law as they tried to find a possible back entrance.

To their dismay, police had found it first.

Running directly into a group of men-in-blue, Akira quickly grabbed one officer's arm and twisted him into a hold.

Acting as a shield, the man was shot numerous times while his arm was promptly broken and used to fire off bullets from the gun in his grasp; still being kept as a guard.

Each time the bruiser shot, he did so with perfect accuracy, often dropping each of the targets.

The man he grappled threshed around a bit before he chose to strike the patrolman in the neck, relinquishing him to the ground.

Kasumi regrettably did not stop him, recognizing it as the only way to successfully escape.

Knowing that all exits were now blocked off, they darted into the penthouse, Akira blocking the door using an old 2x4 wooden plank on the ground.

As he slid it through the curved handles, he knew it wasn't a good plan.

The former residence was dark and dingy, no essence of life could be found.

Things looked quite old though, much older than the exterior would indicate . . . like it was constructed in the 1920's.  
There was a regal sense of class that soaked in, as if built for a revered man. Brown splotches stained what was left of the carpet and a faint, metallic smell filled the air.  
Of what had been stolen over the years, a lone painting remained on the wall above a fireplace.

They could hear the shuffling of footsteps from outside and confused, irritated commands being shouted between disrespectful colleagues.

Quickly moving anything they could up against the door, they did so quietly to prevent them from discovering this room.  
They turned their attention back towards the scene and separately came to the conclusion that . . . something very evil happened here.

In whispers they began speaking to each other.

"This place is old. It stinks of decay . . . What happened?" Akira said.

She looked down and saw faded crime scene tape scattered in torn pieces across the dilapidated wood flooring.

"Look. I- I think it's an old police investigation site. Can't you smell the blood?" She asked.

He looked around indifferently.

"So, it's a murder scene. How do we get out?" He said, persistent to their situation.

Kasumi didn't answer.  
She found herself entranced by the painting.

Its canvas was worn out, but the faint image remained, more vivid and colorful on stained portions than the clean ones.

She saw that the painting was of an older man, maybe in his mid-40's.  
He had swept back hair of an undeterminable color and was depicted wearing red and black formal clothes, almost passé, and a long, deep shade of royal purple in his overcoat.

He had handsome facial features but his eyes had been scratched away.

She looked down and could make out a barely visible name engraved on the frame.

Going towards it, the kunoichi used a nearby rag to wipe dirt and dust away: she kept working at it for a few more seconds before finally managing to make the word somewhat legible.

She read it aloud.

"Sparda."

Suddenly, something was triggered in Akira. A weird sensation come over him.

It felt like his mind wasn't readily attached to his own body, as if he were beginning to drift away, out from his physical form into a different plane.

The strange feeling continued and he felt in two places at the same time.

The room became remade.

Transitioning into a renovated style, the paint returning to it's former glory while new sights and smells became apparent to him.  
He could see new paintings appearing and the floor repairing itself, as divots filled themselves and cracks sealed up.  
The stains disappeared and new people manifested in the building as he saw a man and a woman relaxing together on different pieces of modern furniture.

Amidst them, playing on the good-as-new rug, were two young boys, both silver-haired.

'This is screwy,' he though to himself as he observed this alternate space. The toddlers were playing with a set of train's and accompanying tracks.

The man sitting adjacent to the woman remarked, "What a week. I hope never to meet that man again."

It was at this point that Akira recalled the man's face and outfit was the same as the man in the painting; Sparda. He saw that his hair and eyes were complete in this reality.

The mysterious figure possessed pale hair devoid of melanin, just like the children, and peculiar, crimson eyes.

Across from him, he observed the woman had, by stark contrast, brown hair and electric blue eyes, as well as white peach skin.  
Her soft, effeminate facial features made her strikingly beautiful.  
Her more colorful skin was different from his. The man's shade struck quite pallid, considering the surrounding.

The children had demonstrably inherited the man's hair but her eyes and skin.

"Oh god, if it's not Mundus, it's a corporate executive. I swear, sometimes I just wanna take us and leave earth all together." She said, agitation clear in her speech.

"Now, now. I hardly think one of those rocks floating out there in space is capable of supporting humans like you. The only conceivable place to get away to is . . .  
well, you know we won't be allowed to go there." He said rather pessimistically.

"There's no denying that. I still think that part of the world just doesn't understand what it is we're doing.  
I mean we're married now: I never thought _that_ would happen anytime soon. Everything hates us for it. Especially the boys." She said to herself.

He took an understanding tone in his response.

"None of them have souls or feelings, only a set of rules and guidelines that are rudimentary in construction. It fails them at every turn.  
That is why many hunt you, they just simply can't understand you.  
At least Demons like me comprehend aspects of human nature. I mean that's why you and I get along so great." Sparda had a devilish smile, though it was there for only a second.

"I've looked over everything that both sides stand for and that dichotomy just doesn't interest me anymore. All of it's hostility is sickening.  
The overt rules are constricting; thou shall not be allowed to breathe, basically.  
You're the natural next step. Makes me wonder why they haven't even questioned why He made man."

He paused to reconsider his train of thought.

"A fifth of America isn't even religious whatsoever, let alone do they believe in a higher power at all. We'll all fade eventually, I think." Sparda couldn't help himself from ranting.

The reason he took human form was to come to earth.

He knew that nothing of his original realm was worth fighting for, and in a strange sense, he could have freely chosen where he went.

Ignorant to biological nature and stridently stuck in their own, predestined ways, his own kin were a sickly blight.

He didn't know why he had a different mindset than the others to begin with.

He just did.

As a devil, he even betrayed his blood brother Mundus because he knew that his power would destroy the world of man, something precious . . . something beyond them all.

"Even though humans like me are 'superior' to demons and angels, as you so often say, people like that Donovan creep still exist. It's why I fell for you in the first place.  
You're so unique. Kind and generous, even though your origins dictate otherwise . . .  
My mother always told me that if I was to follow everything the good book told me to do, I'd wind up in heaven.  
She was a southern-baptist hypocrite . . . slept with any gender that glanced at her, you remember.

"If my own parent is incapable of following a creed, why should anyone?"

There was a bitterness trapped in her throat.

"Because it was designed to fail." His words cut the scenery a bit.

"There hasn't been any divine intervention in at least two millennia. And while humans waste away and rot without guidance, where is this fictional creator to help us all?  
Aren't demons supposedly included as His children? He created us all, even me. He created everything.  
I don't mean to rant . . . but it just enrages me that in a world eons old, there's still a belief in intelligent design.  
And then that man . . . the nerve on him. He insults me with his christianity. **He _dare_ summon me and ask for _my_ children to use as tests!? _My_ flesh and blood?-!" **

As he said these words, he grew increasingly more intense in delivery and his eyes began glowing a demonic orange.

" **I will not be bullied by-!** " The rage of Sparda was great, but he was suddenly broken from it.

Only two things were capable of doing this to him.

Either his wife had intervened to calm him; as only she could, or, even more so, one of his children was threatened or harmed.

In this case, it was the latter.

"Ah! Ow, ow, owie! Ahah!" One of the little boys cried.

He was tearing up pretty quickly, so he clenched his face tight. Something had knocked him onto his back.

The two were instantly torn from their conversation, with their attention to the boys.

"Dante, what's wrong!-?" Eve was shocked, motherly emotion ran through her nerves as she went to them.

He wouldn't let her see initially, but after managing to pry his hands away, she saw that his nose was broken.

Dante bled heavily, dropping globs of it onto the floor.

"Oh, my baby, my sweet boy. What happened?" She said with sweeping concern when she lovingly embraced him.

The uncontrollably sobbing young boy stammered as the tears took over.

"V-vergil hit m-me with the train!" Stammering and gasping for air in between words.

She looked angrily across from him and saw a remorseless Vergil, sitting with a slight grin and the metal toy train, now blood-stained, in his hand.

"Sparda, handle him!" She yelled as she picked Dante up and took him to another room to fix up his wound.

"Did I do bad?" Vergil said with a slight snicker.

"Did you think that was funny? That attitude will **not** be tolerated! Get your ass over here!" He said.

His fury was barely held back as he leered over his eldest.

The demonic lord snatched him by his ear and dragged him to the chair he was sitting in previously. Vergil began crying himself.

"Ow! Okay, I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, it was just fun! Gah- H-he wouldn't give me his toy!" He said as he began to whine over being in trouble.

He kept giving excuse after excuse, none of which impressed nor swayed the elder statesman.

"This is the second time I've told you. Treat your brother with a modicum of respect! Until you learn to treat Dante equally, you're going to keep getting in trouble." Sparda lectured.

"Words can't describe how disappointed I am in you!"  
The lord sat upon the chair's lip, then hoisted Vergil onto his knee, bent him over, and began spanking him as punishment.

Vergil's weeping grew louder and louder as the smacks became harsher and more spiteful.

Akira became uncomfortable with the scenery and noticed that as Sparda began spanking him,  
the environment around them began to deteriorate, becoming corroded . . . infected by something else.

The bricks turned veiny and discolored, the lamps shook and darkened, beneath them the rug burned silently, and the paintings molded over, contorting and twisting themselves out of proportion.  
In place of historical figures stood demonic figures in the picture frames, winding themselves up to get out.

"Have you learned your lesson?" The man yelled in an almost bestial manner. He had spanked the boy at least twenty-five times.

Vergil couldn't answer, he was crying too hard.

So his father spanked him again.

"I _said_ have you learned your lesson!-?" He bellowed even louder.

"Yes! Yes! I'm sorry! I'm sorry . . ." He trailed off as he whimpered.

His wife returned with a bandaged Dante.

She was rather shocked.

"Vergil!?" Looking at the boy, she stared at her husband, "Honey, I said handle him, not beat him."

He sighed briefly.

"Relax, I did not 'beat' him. I merely showed him a firm hand. There's no other way to make a child understand at this age." So much for kind and generous.

"Shit, look at his skin! He's all red . . . Is that blood?"

Eva shot him that old patronizing stare.

"He needs to learn." He said sternly.

"You're going to give him a complex! Let him go!" She said.

He complied and let his son out of his grasp.

The child pulled his pants down and rubbed his afflicted area to try to sooth the pain.

Sparda was unamused.

"You know, you over-protect him. Both of them. Our children are going to have a harsh future . . . dealing with my enemies.  
I have to impart to them what I know, my discipline if they want to make it." He stated.

She angrily looked at him in confusion.

"They need compassion and kindness, not violence and anger. I just got done saying how sweet and loving you are and in the next breath you're hurting them.  
You have to show him another way. Otherwise, he'll never know anything else." She said.

Her warmth affected even Akira, though he initially agreed with Sparda's parenting style more than hers.

The devil sighed. "We'll talk about this later. I have to go."

He got up to walk to the front door.

"Where?" She asked.

"Evie, oh precious Eva. I have to make sure it's still safe to keep living here." He said as he opened the front door and left, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Then everything that had appeared melted away once more.

Before Akira, Sparda rematerialized out of bleeding colors, this time bearing a truer demon's appearance.

He was frightening and bug-like, catching the fighter off guard by his sudden arrival.

"I brought you here to show you the path that's been laid out for us. It seems insignifcant, no?" He said.

"This was a . . . ? What did you bring me here for? Why did you want me to see this?" The fighter said.

He chuckled, "This is a moment in time preserved in physical items. I am not even the real Sparda. I'm a memory of a remnant; long since dead.  
I exist for the sole purpose of waiting, I suppose . . ." He seemed saddened by something, maybe because he wasn't real.

"Why don't you wait some more and send me back? I want nothing to do with this . . . Whatever it was you wanted me to see." Yuki spat at him.

"I showed you this because this was a moment that I created something terrible. The moment when my poor decisions brought about what befalls this world now. You have potential.  
I can sense your burning anger, hehe . . . I like that. You're never strong enough, are you? Or at least, that's what feels true." He stated.

". . . No." He said in reluctance. Akira had learned enough to at least admit his faults.

"And the girl's stronger than you. You've felt this." Sparda continued.

He again could not disagree.

"Yes. She is. I do not know how someone so young could attain the strength that eludes me. I've trained for so long." He said solemnly as he observed his fist.

"As I said, you have potential. The only reason you are here now is because your vitality is strong enough that you can perceive it.  
This place is a pocket dimension; a small parallel to our own universe where time runs slower. I sensed you when you walked in and I've seen you fight; I have eyes throughout this building.  
You lack the proper faith. Years of hard living have broken your belief system down, though it's not like you vehemently believed in an afterlife to begin with." Sparda told him.

Akira snapped back to his dire situation from before.

"Thanks for the analysis but _what can I do_? If I go back, they will kill us for what I did to those men.  
They probably already have her in their custody. I don't have any special power, I'm just a fighter past his prime." He was right.

He was in his forties by then and on the downward slope of his career, to say the least.  
His muscles began losing their definition and he wasn't as quick as he used to be. He looked decent in the face but it was becoming harder to hide his age everyday.  
Sooner or later, he'd have to stop running.

Sparda looked sympathetically at him.

"Remember, I said this place runs slower than the mortal coil. She's still rather locked in place, unaware you're even gone.  
You could take twenty years in here and only around ten seconds would pass there. You have all the time in the world. That is why you must make a decision now." The demon said.

"A decision?" Akira asked. "Why?"

"Because you're a last-minute draftpick. I've been waiting for someone like you for thousands of years, my time.  
You have the discipline but you also have the morals, something I failed to give my own children. Well, one of them, anyway." He said.

He remained skeptical, "'Draft pick'? You're not making a good argument here. What for?"

"To aid humans. As I said, what you witnessed here set a specific series of events into motion. If I-" He paused as he remembered what he was.

"Pardon, if you do nothing, it can and _will_ eventually destroy . . . everything." Sparda cryptically stated.

"You need me to . . . What? Save the world, that it?  
I'm not your man. There has to be someone else; literally anyone else would do. Hell, why can't you leave here and do it yourself?" The man asked.

"There have been others before you. People I've thought might be great, and though they did show promise, they've all died at some point.  
The rest turned out to be criminals; those who would use power to abuse.  
I've lost much of my power giving it fools and thieves, but you are different than those men." He replied.

Following this, he then focused on his followup question.

"To answer your second question, in here I'm as real as you. But, out there, I am nothing.  
Please, I am not asking you for me. I'm asking you on behalf of my sons, you can't let my mistakes demolish their future: _everyone's_ future. It isn't fair to them" The remnant desperately pleaded.

Akira pondered this request. He knew that he wasn't strong enough to stop whatever this Sparda was speaking of, but he knew the difference between right and wrong.

Something was nagging at him, telling him that to refuse this man would indeed be wrong.

"I admire a man who can admit his mistakes. I can see that you were only trying to do what you thought was best. How were you to know?" Akira was forthright and virtuous.

He chuckled slightly. "Thank you for the kind word, but whether he could have foreseen the outcome or not is no longer important. Will you decide?" Sparda asked.

"I have to know what I'm choosing." The aging fighter said.

"A valid point. You have energy just packed away inside your every cell. It doesn't go anywhere and, unlike the ninja, you can't use it to make yourself stronger.  
What I can do is give you a 'gift' of sorts. It's the last little will of his power. That little lock you have on will just slide open.  
And lets just say . . . You're going to get a little boost. The healing factor may even reverse the damage done by aging." The Daemon explained.

Regeneration sounded like a very good upside to the deal.

"But, I can't help you master it. Once unleashed, you have to figure out how to control it yourself. I should mention, you may begin to see things usually kept hidden from mortal's sight.  
Ghosts, demons possessing humans, malicious creatures from other cultures. And when they notice that you'll be able to see them, they'll do whatever it takes to make you un-see them.  
Believe me, they're good at that. Are you willing to take that burden, should it manifest?" Sparda tentatively queried him on this front.

Akira considered all the pros and cons. There were so many possibilities, so many ramifications.

In this case, he believed that the positives far out-weighed the negative side effects, but another thought popped into his head.

"What happens to you after I take this?"

". . . I cease to exist. What little that holds me together will cause me to fade away."

Silence pervaded the shifting room.

"A fragment of a pure demon's power inside of a human being: a hopeful transition into a hybrid. It's rather difficult to explain.  
You won't be a 100% cross, but a strong warrior like you should be able to house a small fraction of even a full demon's power, like myself. You won't be as strong as others, though." He stated.

Akira pondered what losing part of his humanity would feel like. If it meant fulfilling a moral obligation, he would most definitely say yes.

But he had to think of the repercussions.

Was damning this being to oblivion, a life without existence, worth it or not?

His struggles eventually ceased as he tried to rationalize his decision and ultimately came to a resolution.

"Yes. I'll do it. If it really means trying to save someone's soul, I will risk it . . . I will always risk it." Akira said.

"Thank you, it's been a long time coming. What's left of him is old and tired.  
Another lifetime of watching the horrible, horrible things that went on in this building on an endless loop would have- I'm just happy that it's over." Upon speaking these words,  
the revenant began.

At first, Akira felt searing pain while his heart dragged down inside him; like it had turned to stone and was sinking through wet mud. He fell to his knees as his vigor drained from him.

Then, suddenly things got better.

He felt a sharp renewal of strength come over him as his true capability awakened, and the demon's power began to merge into his cells.

The undertaking felt monstrous, like he was transformed into a god.

"Oh, I should mention, when you come back to your senses, you'll have the ability to perceive and move between this world and reality, so leaving won't be an issue. When you go, find Dante. Help him." Sparda informed him before dematerializing into nothing.

"That's the younger one, right?" The fighter said, only to find that his new benefactor had already gone.

He was left confused and depressed at the immediate loss. His great physical awareness startlingly subsided and although it took a few moments, Akira's Ki began to tear itself out of him.

A violet, flaming aura, chaotic; volatile.

Constantly exploding and regenerating, his new, borrowed strength surged in and out of control.

There was no managing it.

Worst of all, there was only unfathomable agony leftover.

And so he realized that he may reside in this dimension for some time.

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

These notes are a bit important, so they get left in.

* * *

I would like to clarify that Akira is not a true main character, I am using him for a specific purpose but he will never upstage any DMC character.  
He's featured in all iterations of Dead or Alive 5 so technically, here, he is really a part of the DOA line-up, as are several other characters used.

Also, i would like to explain that Dante's mother only looks like the reboot version for aesthetic reasons. She is unreservedly, without a doubt, **human!**

When this was first posted, it wasn't in the greatest shape. I should have taken more time to work on the explanations and backstory before uploading.  
I take complete blame for this, as the result was an over-simplified mess. For the most part, it didn't even depict what I was trying to go for.

Anyway, I guess that's it for now, reviews are appreciated. New notes in the manifest, thank you.


	10. Survival of The Unluckiest

**-The Explosion Site-**

* * *

Dante felt a falling sensation. The unending torture had somehow stopped but he couldn't figure out where he was.  
He couldn't see well, his eyes had been burnt badly and almost seared shut.

He continued to fall, and as he went, he thought to himself 'so, let's review. How did this happen?'

He continued to feel pulled. Wind rustled past his silver locks, turned a dreary gray color.

'Oh right, I fought that weird ninja; man he's strong. Let's see here . . . I was doing okay, then he did some crazy redirection and I got screwed up.' he thought.

'He broke about every bone I have. Then he blew me up with the ninja equivalent of an atomic bomb . . . he summoned from his hands . . . why do I always get the weird ones?' he continued.

His line of thinking led to an epiphany.

Was he dead?

Had he been killed and falling down to hell already? He was facing upwards, he knew this from the feeling of air passing by.  
The raggedy remains of his clothes were constantly thrusting in the opposite direction he was going.

So he twisted himself around mid-flight to see where he was going.

'Hmm . . . Oh, there's the ground.'

He crashed down into the remains of a car.

Dante bounced off the destroyed vehicle and was sent flying back up at least fifty feet.

Then, he landed again almost perfectly parallel to the automobile several feet to the right.

The cooled, thick layers of ash caking the earth did not soften the impact, the ground cracking underneath him.

He lay with his face and chest buried, motionless for several minutes. Snowy soot covered his whole body as it continued to fall, and he fell unconscious.  
There was no way to tell what went on as he slept.

The nap must have been for a little while, at least long enough for a few inches of ash to fall. It couldn't have been more than an hour.  
When he awoke, things weren't much better.

He weakly pushed himself up off the ground and onto his back with his left arm, working actively against the layers on top of him till he reached the surface.

After that, he just breathed in a massive quantity of air.

He was glad that he was alive, at least. The oxygen whisked through his entire body, and he could feel it making it's way through him. Each breath felt like a gift.  
The man couldn't hear anything but looked around.

In so doing, he noticed that there really wasn't much to listen to anymore.

The entire area had been devastated, and as Dante's nose grew back, he could smell burning gasoline and charred metal.  
He also felt something was wrong.

Missing from his body, his right arm had been blown off altogether, leaving only a burnt, jagged bone spike.

His facial features had largely been destroyed but were beginning to repair themselves. Sinew, tendons and nerves began to grow back over his blackened skull.  
The man tried to stand but found that his legs had become malformed and broken beyond use.  
Yet through all this physical pain and the inconveniences, only one thought resonated in his mind.

'Why did I bounce?' he wondered.

* * *

 **-Earlier- at the Hospital.**

* * *

Tina was sitting in reception. She'd been hyperventilating but calmed down once her morphine kicked in.

She showed incredible lucidity, enough that it prompted the doctor to decide against her staying inside a hospital room.

As the wrestler waited for a verdict on her father, she became shocked when she realized she saw Kasumi at the registration window with a tall, muscular man.

'No, that _can't_ be her.' she thought to herself.

As she looked on, an altercation quickly ensued. The woman kept her head down and shifted back further into the chair, wanting to shrink down as much as possible. She did not continue to observe.  
Tina waited until both were gone. She looked up to see them leave without noticing her and a fearful receptionist running off to talk to her superiors.

She snapped back to reality.

Trying to focus on what was important, she figured out why things had gone so badly.  
She meets one guy and he nearly kills her dad. Not to mention it was at her own request. What's that gonna look like to the public? Hell, what's her dad gonna do about it . . .

Maybe they could get away with claiming it a storyline, despite it not being any special wrestling-specific event.

Still, she couldn't deny that things had to change.

This was really the only way that things _could_ have gone, when she thought about it all in retrospect.

She continued to run the possible alternate scenarios in her head for minutes on end.

Eventually, a nurse came over and said that she needed to move to let sick or injured people sit down and rest.

Tina's legitimately gracious, southern manners caused her to reluctantly agree, so she got up voluntarily.  
As soon as she did, she was subjected to looking at the empty chair for a painfully long time as the self-important staff and bustling patients walked by at strangely fast paces.

That's what she got for being nice, she thought.

Eventually, a fly landed on her cheek.  
She slapped herself, immediately feeling stupid for having done so.

It kept buzzing and buzzing around her ears. In and out, in and out.

It wouldn't fucking stop.

Those little wings just kept on spazzing out, driving it all around her ears as the light fixtures in the ceiling painted everything a stale green.  
All of it looked decayed and old, like it hadn't been cleaned and used for years, yet the hospital was supposedly spotless.

And that chair she'd been asked to vacate was _still_ _empty_.

Tina became irritated and moody, as her arm would occasionally twitch beyond her control, prompting her to become increasingly annoyed at her surroundings.

Oh great, it was getting hot.

"Yo, Tina. Dante was lookin' for you." Zack said.

"Hmm? What for?" She inquired as the green-haired, African-American man came up to her.

Her depressive thoughts had almost completely rid her of any mention about the strange fighter.

"Uh . . . I dunno. I kinda sent him on a wild goose chase 'cause I didn't know where you were." Zack admitted.

He knew Dante wouldn't be thrilled, but what was the worst that could happen?

"Zack! Ya coulda at least given him a good suggestion." When situations got serious her southern accent would lessen greatly.

Weird, huh?

Suddenly, violent noises began to leak in from outside, starting with a gigantic crashing sound, followed by rubble falling downwards.  
Tina immediately identified exploding cars and terrified human screams, alongside various other different noises that she couldn't make out.

"What the hell?" Zack exclaimed; pacing over to a window in the crowded and increasingly panicked reception.

He could steadily make out a tall hooded figure and a strange, flaming blue knife suspended in air. The figure had taken out numerous street lamps, leaving the entire area dark.

The only outside source of illumination that could be seen was the floating blade, which was emitting pale flame's.  
Tina came over to stand next to him as the noises outside eventually ceased and was replaced by muffled speech.  
Soon after, sudden sparks and gunshots began exploding from seemingly nowhere.  
The movements were too fast to see from their perspective but the gunshots illuminated the scene outside, showing chaos and dead bodies, gruesomely cut to pieces and the strange creature itself.

The other one Tina recognized as primarily familiar.

'Oh, sweet jesus. I knew somethin wasn't right about him.' She thought to herself as she witnessed Dante become a red blur.

The guns also added to the panic and soon, much of the hospital was filled with screams and people struggling to get out, violently reacting to one another as the fear escalated.

As corridors and rooms quickly filled in, Zack saw an escape route open up.  
He grabbed Tina and darted forward to an employee's only door.  
The two burst through to the shock of many hospital staff.  
They were bewildered by the chaos and even more so by the presence of insistent strangers.  
However, as confusion and disorientation mounted, the hospital staff was more concerned about the hysteria occurring out in the halls.

The two scurried through and Zack wound up outright elbowing one worker in the face because they were in the way.  
He burst out into the alleyway, with her clutched close behind.

They saw fire coming from one direction and he decidedly ran the opposite way, without consulting Tina.

"Whoa- Hey! Whoa there! I'm not a rubber band! What about dad?!" She shouted at him. He looked back at her negligently.

"No time, fancy face." He replied. She angrily tried to break free but he relentlessly pulled her with him until she simply gave up resisting.

Modern sexism sucks, huh?

They ran down the sidewalk until all fear was drowned out by the sounds of self absorbed pedestrians and corroded cars speeding through intersections.  
Zack instantly pulled out a phone and called up an unknown person.

"Baby? Yeah . . . It's me. Ye- . . . I know- I know it's late bu- Would _you_ relax?! Baby, baby, stop bein' African, I got a problem! . . . Whaddya mean I'm talkin' improper? . . .  
That's what you are, so am I! It ain't racist if I'm the same color, baby! . . . Alri- Ye-D- . . .  
JUST BE HERE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES OR IMMA KILL YA NEW BOYFRIEND! Kay?! Alright, bye- I- er . . . _I love you too_." He hung up.

Tina was greatly amused by what she heard.  
The sudden argument, all the way to the hushed tone of the obligatory 'I love you' made her giggle as she observed him struggling with real life problems,  
but he also somehow managed to maintain his larger than life swagger.

God he was just so goofy.

It appeared that both everything, and nothing, had changed about the man who once tried so desperately to court her.

"Having some issues, hun?" She sardonically asked.

He responded with a grimace.

"It ain't like that, okay? Just a friend ya'know? Ah, forget it." He said, waving his hand and looking away.

The Muay Thai fighter couldn't help but look silly even in his somber moments.  
Perhaps it was his consistently awkward body language, or maybe his preposterous green hair and sunglasses combo.  
Whatever the case was, he was quite the flamboyant sight to many passersby, often looking back at him in a double take.

"Look, it's somebody I jus' know, all right? We're gonna meet her at the subway station. When we get there, she's gonna take us to a safe place for a little while." Zack stated.

And again, somehow the self-taught fighter managed to spark anger after a calm moment.

"A safe place?! I ain't goin' to no safe house, ya jerk! We have to get back to my dad. _This_ is insane!" She stated.

Tina was unprepared for the man's response.

"Oh get off of your self absorbed ass and realize you can't turn to your father for everything!  
If I recall, firsthand, you're the one who gave the go ahead for that Dante guy to put im' in the hospital in the first place. So don't keep cryin' bout how 'insane this is.'  
I know it's not a studio set or wrestle-ring, but it's damn well better than goin' back to that asshat's hospital room!" He angrily told her.

A glowing kiss-ass he was no longer.

They glared at each other in discontent.

"If you're gonna slap me, do it now at least . . ." He grumbled.

She raised her hand and he closed eyes, but no blow ever came.

Instead, he felt an arm grab his back and pull him in for a hug. He felt a wet spot form on his shirt as she buried her head in his tee.

"Yer right. You're right. I can't keep relyin' on him.  
He's so controlling but . . . he's always been there, you know? I just can't . . ." She trailed off.

He awkwardly put a hand on her head and reluctantly comforted his bygone compadre.

Sighing, they simply stood in silence together.  
People walked by and either paid them no attention or shot them odd looks; somewhere between jealousy and piousness.

"You okay? I know you've been thru some stuff today, but it'll get easier. You watch; there'll come a day where you'll look back on it and be glad.  
Just . . . stay strong. You always were to me." Zack said.

She parted away from him and looked right at his weathered face.

Her eyes seemed to lance through his impassable shades and the duo started making their way further into the city to the subway, their friendship from years ago reinstated.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

Bayman and his men arrived at the investigation site.  
As the commanding officer, the Russian stepped off of his respective copter and walked over to a sergeant holding the area until their arrival.

"Hello sir. Sergeant Wilhelm." The man said, a slight midwest accent accompanying his reverent tone.

Wilhelm? Maybe he was of german descent.

"Pleasure. What have we got here?" Bayman asked, oddly informal for the highest reigning official.

"Sir?" Wilhelm asked, confused.

"The tape only had static, Sergeant. What are we dealing with?" He clarified.

"Well, we really don't know quite yet. There isn't much forensics to go on other than the . . . corpses, I guess.  
All we can say for sure is that something incredibly grim happened." The Sergeant stated.

Bayman raised an eyebrow.

"That bad? Well, lets take a look together. Maybe there's something your men haven't found yet." He decided as they began walking, with Wilhelm escorting the new arrivals up to a wrecked car.

They peered inside and discovered a bloodied husk.  
With nothing of significance here, the search continued onwards.

Hunting all over, this group saw a destroyed brick wall.

It had caused a portion of the building to collapse, surrounding a peculiar point of impact.

The former mercenary noticed that up along the side of an uncollapsed wall were specific cracks and gray areas where the outer material was crushed and knocked away.

They aligned straight in a pattern scaling up the structure, but were all shaped vaguely like human feet.

"What the . . . Uh, Get a team up there." Bayman said, unsure of what reality he'd walked into.

They found fragments of a black and red piece of clothing, and began collecting them for forensic evidence.  
Bayman noticed that the literal footprints contained a dried chemical substance that was dark blue. There were also a collection of other splattered spots several feet outwards in other areas.

He glanced over at a few adjacent rooftops and saw that there was a definitive and clear pathway to follow.

"Oh great. Just . . . fucking great." He muttered pessimistically.

They began painstakingly investigating the numerous alcoves and apartment roof coverings, scanning for any potential breakthrough.  
Bayman reached what appeared to be the final battleground, before suddenly beginning to smell a strong scent of blood and ash.

He looked and looked, but couldn't see where the scent might be coming from.

How peculiar. It was impossible not to notice the smell, all he could rely on was his nose.

Continued investigation soon became halted when their trail collided with the scene of a disaster.  
It was hidden faintly by the crowded, obnoxious skyscrapers that were overbuilt, with many having become connected by bridges and adjoining add-ons.

Some were even built into each other over the years, all lacking a semblance of modernness about them.

Yet, they felt like they could've been built at any point in time.

Despite this, what laid beyond this could still be viewed just as well.

It was arduous at first; Bayman had to strain his eyes, but he eventually managed to make out a semblance of fog or smoke.

Smog, most likely.

It wasn't until he drew closer that he suddenly realized there was a huge cloud stemming from a vaporized wasteland, at least between five and ten miles in diameter.  
The temperature was burning up, simply being near the area caused symptoms of excessive diaphoresis to manifest itself in several operatives following.

"What the fuck is this?! Why didn't anyone of you come investigating this part of town?!" Bayman barked with a slight twist of sarcasm in his voice.

The others remained quiet and nervous.

Sergeant Wilhelm reluctantly approached him with a local map.

"This must be recent, really recent. We didn't receive any intel on this at all. Let me tell you though, it's been a crazy night.  
All of it seems to be originating from _this_ hospital, Saint Nevermore: Established in 1963 and named after Peter Nevermore, a purportedly Christian Scientist and Biologist, if there ever was such a thing. He apparently helped in the development of medication for Parkinson's disease, though if he was a Christian Scientist, I've no idea how." The Sergeant stated flatly.

"And?" Bayman asked skeptically.

"Dah- Well, um-, there seems to have been a seriously large degree of activity in the general vicinity of the building tonight.  
The first incident was an altercation between a rowdy hospital patron who was signed in as a John Doe and a female receptionist.  
This led to security being called and when he, and the woman who brought him in, beat up all the security staff in the parking lot, the regular cops arrived and then chased them down to a building.  
Supposedly they've continued a manhunt for them, but it seems they- ahem, uh . . . eheh, disappeared." Wilhelm meekly stated.

Bayman turned to face him.

"Run that last part by me again?"

"Um, they, uh, disappeared." The Sergeant repeated.

Bayman raised a trademark eyebrow. "Into what? Thin-fucking-air?"

"Ah. Once again, Sir has completely cut straight to the point. Where _did_ they go? And the answer is . . . Thin-fucking-air, yes." Wilhelm reluctantly repeated a third time.

The former mercenary sighed. "Ugh. And then what happened, pray tell?"

"Two unknown figures began fighting on the abandoned top floor. When we went to investigate all we saw was a bunch of broken windows and some scattered dust and sand, a real pigsty.  
Witnesses say they saw the figures battle it out on the streets.  
They caused a large amount of destruction, then appeared to vanish. We found some pretty unsavory stuff, as you know." Wilhelm finished the overview.

"And then the rest is history. All right, I guess just . . . call in the Hazmat's and inspect the area for lethal radiation, before we proceed." Bayman said unsure of how to exactly handle the situation.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- In the flattened ruins.**

* * *

Dante skulked around for his sword.

His legs had painfully regenerated after sometime and were somewhat usable again.  
His blackened bones returned to their healthy white color before appearing to become red and meaty when some of his personage finally grew back.

Cracked limbs popped back into place, and he began to look closer to normal after a few more minutes.  
His arm was half grown, missing the hand primarily but having regenerated some of his forearm.  
The appendage looked as though it was held together purely by loose tendons and remaining clothing.

Much of his skin was still damaged and looked flayed, leaving mostly raw muscles and exposed fibers.

"The shop. . . Just gotta get back to the shop." He said aloud to himself as he carried his damaged body across gray ash, leaving red footprints wherever he stepped.

His boots remained slightly intact, wound together by the laces.  
Those brown pants had been reduced to burned canvas while his jacket was cut to ribbons and singed crispy on it's various edges.

His shirts were mostly gone, revealing a healed chest but an exposed and badly ripped apart abdomen. His ribs were visible, all mangled and such.

Although his face had most of it's flesh restored, it remained necrotized and warped, a hollow shell of it's former finesse for now.

He closed the fingers of his left hand and whispered an unknown phrase.

His guns reappeared in their strangely preserved holsters.

"If only I remembered that trick for the sword. Eh, tasks for later. Where is that damn thing. . . ?" Well, at least Dante had goals.

He staggered about, struck with limps in both his legs.  
Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the stained chrome of a car bumper, he saw his 'new look.'

A zombie.

He was a zombie now, doomed in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, similar to one in the shows he watched.

"So handsome, now so hungry." The man had a knack for speaking, even when alone.

As he continued wandering around he eventually managed to find Rebellion, much to his happiness.  
However, much to his _chagrin_ , he also saw three figures in hazardous material suits poking and prodding it with futuristic looking technology.

'Oh this isn't gonna end well.' He thought to himself as he trudged along toward his possession.

"Ahoy there!" Dante vocalized enthusiastically.

His smooth baritone had, however, become a gruff, croaking roar.  
That rancid voice immediately drew the attention of the strangers.

"You're not going to take my sword and blow me up, are you?" He asked jokingly, if not hopefully.

.

He was met with horrified screaming.

"AAAAAAAHHH!" Shrieked the one.

"It's a Zombie!" Cried the second.

"What the ducking ducker-fuck!? OH GOD!" Screamed the third.

All three bumbled and tripped over one another.  
Dante half-stood and watched in amusement.

"Just about the level of teamwork I expected . . ." He muttered, "Oh relax. I'm just gonna take this sword and then hobble my burnt body over downtown. No biggie, I swear . . ."

A minute went by.

". . . Y-you guy's done screaming yet?" The bemused slayer asked, almost concerned.

The three continued to bang into each other and scuffle around on the ground.  
Their yellow outfits turned to gray from all the matted dust. In the grand scheme of things, he'd say they'd only gotten about a foot farther away.

"As, uh . . . 'Entertaining' as this is, I'm gonna leave now." He said as he moved forward, hand outstretched towards his sword.

Dante grabbed the handle.

One of the men got free from the tangle and shouted a stupid, flustered mangle of an English word, and then used one of their little gasgets to bash Dante's hand off.

"Ah! Why?!" He angrily shouted as he observed his withered hand crumble in on itself.

The frightened man attacked him again and struck his shoulder.

Dante fell back a little, his collar bone most definitely broken again, but caught himself.

He dodged the third swing and then snap-kicked the man's gut.  
Some of his strength returned as the stranger went flying backwards ten feet and landed unconscious.

The others quickly panicked, scattering away.

That being said, his wounds weren't healing anymore.

He'd reached a critical point. His body just felt too much stress to continue on making repairs.  
Falling forward, onto the handle of his sword, he managed to balance himself.  
Using it as a crutch to keep himself upright, it afforded him the clarity to begin focusing and meditating.

In a few seconds, his remaining hand scrunched back a useful state.

The man grabbed the sword and he placed it on his back, where it belonged; the demonic bond keeping it strapped to him.

"Note to self, don't bother being friendly to strangers. They'll most likely hit you no matter what ya say . . ." Dante angrily muttered under his breath during his continued push forward.

He had no time to stop and recharge.

His power was drained, fractured, and it was clear humans had shown up.  
No choice now. He had to flee. He had to evade military at all costs.

He heard a voice speak behind him.

"Hey! Hey you!"

He turned back out of instinct and saw a lone soldier.

"What the fuck?-! Hey, hey!" The soldier shouted, confused by his grotesque appearance.

"Oh, hello. You're not exactly catching me at my best." He sardonically quipped as he quickly drew Ebony with his left hand and shot the man in his shoulder, disarming him. He hated hurting humans, even bad ones.

Dante immediately began running as fast as he could.

The soldier screamed, attempting to alert the others of the devil's presence.

He ran, even though he could feel his legs buckling and tearing.

He refused to stop, not for his injuries, nor his military pursuers.

A loud bang rung out.

Dante had a delayed reaction. A sniper round entered and then exited his torso.  
He stammered forward out of control, but regained balance. The hunter maintained to run further and faster.

Multiple gun shots zipped by, occasionally thrashing a part of his body.

'Good. They're far away at least. Or they can't shoot to save their lives.' Dante thought to himself.

Bayman ran up to the unconscious tech.

"Hey! What happened?" He yelled.

"Z-zombie . . ." the man uttered as he fell back unconscious.

The merc's face ignited.

Confused, he screamed, "What the actual fuck is going on here!?"

The Hazmats hadn't found any radiation. It was safe for them to scout the area.  
He'd decided to have the tech team scout as well, aiding in the search for evidence. He felt ashamed that he led them to being assaulted.

This all drove him to find the 'Zombie.'

Wilhelm stalked Dante from a sniper scope. He was constantly taking shots at him, rapid fire.  
He had to reload every few seconds or so, managing to get a few shots on the strange figure, but missed several times as well.

The inhuman speed and agility weren't exactly the kinds of threats soldiers like him were prepared for.

"What is this thing?" He questioned through the intercom.

Another pursuer answered.

"It's humanoid, but my viewfinder's showing me something that looks like an incinerated corpse." He said as he chased after the thing as well.

Another soldier was out of shape, panting and running to try to catch up as well.

"It's really fast!" He shouted, already worn out.

The speedy suspect continued sprinting, and, eventually, found a huge piece of building rubble.  
He ran up and capered over it. Intending to land behind it and hide, he knew it was desperate, but it was the only thing he could do.

He stuck the landing but the ground instantly caved in underneath him.

Falling sixty some odd feet, he landed in the bowels of a destroyed car park.  
His body banked off a concrete pillar and landed on the hood of another car.  
Sliding off, he face-planted into the ground. The colossal wreckage above tilted over, covering the hole.

He stayed still for a solid five minutes.

Eventually, Dante grumbled back awake, spitting out a few bone fragments.

Lovely.

"Oooooh . . . Why the big falls? . . . it's _always_ the big falls." The slayer groaned as he climbed back up to his feet, knowing he wouldn't be hidden for long.  
A small sliver of moonlight poked through a tiny hole numerous feet above.  
Taking a moment to refocus his senses, his ears attuned themselves to a wider frequency range, zeroing in on faraway sound.

In an instant, he managed to queue in to human voices.

They were muffled at first, but some time made them clear up.

"Shit! Where did it go?" One voice spoke. "The target has escaped! I repeat. The target has escaped!" It said.

Another one answered.

"It couldn't have gone far. It probably fell through into an underground complex. There's liable to be a few unsafe pockets under ground. Secure the area and entrap it!" The strong voice spoke.

Really? They wouldn't even search for some of the people that had gotten trapped under all the debris?

"Brilliant." Dante said to himself.

He ceased focusing and his hearing returned to normal.  
The man then began looking for an escape.

The area wasn't illuminated much, but this didn't matter.

His gaze effortlessly bore through the black veil that invaded the cavernous car park.

There was a door with an unlit exit signal.  
He chose to try to open it. Found inside were impassable ruins.

Stifled, the fraying halfling put together a new plan.  
He returned his focus and spied the soldiers efficiently finding the entrances and exits. Quickly, the servicemen began infiltrating the underground lot.

He stole beneath some fallen remains, managing to crawl to a new area.

Metal girders were littered across a splintered ground of tar and metal re-bars stuck out of jaggedly compressed concrete.

Car parts and obliterated human remains were laid about, scattered.

He saw a broken elevator and a separate, jammed in, steaming tube-shaped hall.  
The apparent slump of the building, caused by the explosion, forced the sewer entrance for maintenance workers to become exposed and twisted.

"Welp, got no other options." The grossly wounded slayer spoke as he hurried into the tunnel.

He knew that if something collapsed, the hallway would be a dead end.  
It was the only thing he could find.  
Uneasiness clawed at his back. He stepped through the drab, concrete tunnel.

There were various snags and places where the tunnel had obviously been mangled out of place.

Every once in a while, electrical wires shocked the tube, illuminating the cracks.

He could see far but it looked as though he may yet face a dead end still.

Unexpectedly, he came up to a door.  
An electric pulse from his neurons gripped his heart. At least _that_ was still working.

Slowly, he grabbed the handle and pushed forward.

It didn't move.

'No! No! No! No! No!'

The door wouldn't open.

The last light for him squashed, Dante prepared to face his immanent fate.  
He'd probably end up in some giant test tube, surrounded by an unknown liquid. What was that gunk scientists put in those things anyway?

Before turning, his eye caught a glimpse of something on the door.

It was a sign he had paid no attention, that said pull.

"Ah, dummy." He said while pulling the door open.

A completely clear path.

The man strolled through the door.  
Although initially he was going to let it close, a thought grew.

He caught it at the last second.

Reaching around with his only hand, Dante tugged hard on the black steel.  
After a few seconds, a metallic whining arose as the element expanded. Perhaps he pried in the wrong direction.

He stepped back through and held the door open with his leg while repositioning his hand.

Steadily, he yanked downward.

Success!  
The shoddily welded handle broke clean off it's point of origin and crumpled to the floor, useless.

No doubt, this would leave the hall completely inaccessible for anyone following him.

He slid back through and let the door close behind him, sealing it off.  
To boot, the door was heavy by human standards.

He walked for what seemed like miles until he found the next ladder up.

Just to be safe, he kept going until he reached another.  
During the walk, his pathway led into another that contained a river of sewage.

The smell was disgusting, but he somehow managed to bear through it.

Walking on the solid concrete ledge, thankfully, he didn't have to wade through this horrible shit.

The next way out thankfully came soon enough.  
He climbed up, using his shortened arm as a way to gain leverage.

Dante popped the manhole cover off and looked out.

A taxi car nearly erase his head.

He ducked down with superhuman precision, just before it could hit him.

Quickly hoisting himself up and out, he clawed his way onto the tar street, putting the cover back on and quickly darting into an alley.

In this town, amputees weren't an uncommon sight.

Plenty of old, ignored veterans and homeless people with other stories walked around with limbs everyday.

The alley was dingy, but it gave him the temporary solace he needed.  
A discarded, old, black greatcoat with a hood sat on the ground. It was in better condition than his, so he grabbed it.

He placed the jacket over his ragged body, and wore it to hide his destroyed visage.

He recognized this part of town, realizing he'd overshot his shop by a sizable distance.

Intensely annoyed, Dante walked home to the shop.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- In the sewer maintenance pipe**

* * *

"We've found a tunnel!" Wilhelm declared.

Bayman became positive.

"Well, there's no other way out of here. This is the lowest floor." He looked at the ground and touched it with two gloved fingers.

Bringing his fingers up after a good swipe, he saw blood.

"Yep, this is the right way. Alright! Everyone stay alert, we're going in." The muscled leader said.

He seemed as attentive as a hawk.  
They stormed the hallway, looking for fresher blood.

Around halfway through, Bayman heard a door open and close. He suddenly ran as fast as he could and reached a metal doorway.

A surprised Wilhelm caught up to him just before the others started filtering through.

"What!? What did you find?" The sergeant inquired.

"I heard a rat. A _big_ rat, and it went through _this_ door." Bayman explained.

Wilhelm casually grabbed for where he expected the industrial door handle to be located.  
He missed and cut his hand open, immediately shining a flashlight. He only saw a jagged and destroyed chunk of black metal where the haft should have been.

Bayman shined his own light on the ground and saw the warped grip.

" . . . You've gotta be fucking joshing me." He said.

"What do we do now?" A stunned Wilhelm asked.

"Get a powersaw and cut through the damn thing." He said.

When he looked back at him, he noted a lack of acknowledgement.

"Saw, sir?" The man asked.

"You don't have a saw? Of any kind? What the hell kind of troop is this?! Do we have a ram at least?" The Russian demanded to know.

"I'll check." Wilhelm answered as he grabbed his radio.

Before he could say anything an enraged Bayman yelled, "Now, not tomorrow!"

"Y-yes sir!" He said in response as he heightened his pace.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- Downtown**

* * *

He took back alleyways and kept his head down for most of the way.

The city glistened with neon lighting; a choir of signs and traffic polishing the streets with aggression.  
He was forced to take an intersection, so he placed his hand his pocket and put the hood down over his face.

He avoided people as best he could, but the sidewalks were a bit crowded tonight.

At one of the lights he had to cross, a nosey pedestrian stepped in his way and asked him why he was hiding his face for no particular reason.

Dante simply looked up and smiled, his terrifying visage causing the person to tumble back and splash in a puddle.

He walked on by, abandoning them in favor of his escape route.

Keeping his hand hidden, the man feigned with his other one.

Every part of his body screamed at him.  
It kept hurting him. It hurt so much.

Eventually, he came to a smaller part of town, though it was still just as boisterous.  
He walked across an intersection and then traversed a final alley between a restaurant and a clothing store.

It led out into a darkened lot, where he came to see it.

Home sweet home at last.

Dante walked across the empty gravel lot that was still serviceable as a parking ground (it had a main entrance accessible from the major street).

He came up to the doors and used a spare key he kept under the welcome mat.

Taking the key in with him, he turned on the lights.

Quite the day.

He accomplished virtually nothing, had been nearly annihilated by a ninja-demon no less, or so he thought, and he'd been chased by the military.

In his back bedroom was a drawer.

Inside was one of many clear, pulsating, neon-lit bottles.

Inside, a bright green liquid swirled torturously, without a master. He removed the jug's lid, and plunged the essence inside down his throat.  
It enveloped him in a brilliant swirl of plasma. Sometimes you needed a little extra kick up, you know? Especially when dealing with near total cell death.  
His body was fully restored, each little injury correcting itself, and he felt happiness come over him. The pain just melted away. Soon, the light vanished, and he felt relaxed again.  
Comfortable, almost. Except for the clothing.

The tired soul took off his torn and dirtied wears and threw them in the open dumpster outside from a window.

"Should have taken some ambrosia with me if I'd known I'd be running into demon's tonight." He said while he limped into his bathroom.

The substance he drank was produced from a demonic fruit he'd encountered. Just one seed planted in his shop's garden and he had life-time supply.

As he took a shower, he cleaned his hair out, which returned it to its proper silver-white color rather than the dumpy gray it had become.  
He double checked all the doors to make sure they were locked tight, a usual precautionary measurement he took, and climbed to his bed.

Just as he was about to go to sleep and relish a night of peaceful slumber, he heard a noise.

It sounded like a piece of paper hitting the floor; subtle, but his hearing caught it anyway.

Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Christie on top of him, a gun, with a silencer attached, pointed at his forehead.

"The end to a perfect day." He said as she smirked and slowly pressed on the trigger.

* * *

 **Chapter End**

* * *

Ooh boy, this was not in good shape when i got back to it. I must've been half asleep, what was with all the overly-complex sentences?

Anyway, notes are in the manifest, and reviews are appreciated, see ya next update.


	11. No Signs of Improvement

**I don't even care about the format anymore. Does any of it matter?  
I'm an idiot and this site gets just that much more frustrating every minute.  
**

 **Anyway, this is the next update I guess. Notes moved to the Manifest, usually.**

* * *

 **Dante's Apartment/Shop**

* * *

"No chance I could tell ya I was really close to finding em, eh?" Dante sarcastically asked, hope filtered with it.

"Oh, sweet boy. I had bright things planned for you. I really hoped you would've at least killed one of them." She spoke as she delicately stroked his chin.

"Ah, I thought not." He replied.

"But you didn't even make it halfway there. You got sidetracked." She played with his hair, admiring his features, "Then you gave up on me. That's a _big no-no_." She continued.

Dante was put through the gutter for the past twelve hours. He was having absolutely none of it.

"You know, I bet you thought ya had me fooled, didn't you?" He said in a suddenly serious tone.

"What?" Christie asked.

The swarthy interiors played into his unexpected change.

"You. I bet ya really thought you were smarter than me. Just wave your chest and I suddenly lose my brain.  
Those two people you wanted me to kill; two people you _lied about_. When you left outta here I-uh, I 'overheard you,' lets say. I heard all about your pathetic rivalry.  
Humans like you are so petty. You just love doing your work for . . . what was his name, Giggles?" Dante said.

As he kept speaking, Christie irked herself up.  
Her face twisted into an increasingly disturbed, manic expression.

"Rig." She said, flat and deep in that signature, sultry voice, covered in a posh accent.

"Yeah, that prick. What I found funny was you actually expected me to kill them. I was going to ask em' what I should do about you, figuring you had to have had some history.  
Killing's not my bag, unless the victim's beyond redemption. But that doesn't stop you, does it? You're psycho."

Her face scrunched, the fist tightening around the pistol grip.

" _Even if_ it turned out you were telling me the truth, I probably wouldn't have killed them. Maybe only've roughened em' up.  
Told the one to disappear and maybe broken the other's wrist or somethin'. . . Well, either way, I can't see how ya got any leverage now." He said.

Her lips winced, even though she had a gun pointed directly at his head.

He wasn't scared at all. In fact, he was mainly apathetic, barely caring she was there.

Christie's cross expression and twitching face creased into a smile as she considered their positions.

"I don't have leverage? Darling, you are a barmy one. You may be invulnerable to broken bones, but you're not bulletproof!" She segued into a shout as she pressed the trigger.

He disappeared beneath her in a blur.

The bullet pierced the pillow.

"What the-?" Looking around, scanning like a drone, she saw him standing across the room, fully clothed.

He was decked out in virtual replicas of his earlier garb, save his coat, which was propped up on his desk chair.

"I'll be straight with you. Being together like that was the best time I've had in a while, but I know better. Ya never even had a chance walking through that door." He remarked.

She spun around and fired off two more rounds.

The bullets went straight through the wall.

He reappeared behind her in the adjacent corner, next to his bed.

Dante crossed his arms.

"Want some tips for next time? Get ugly." He casually spoke.

She jumped up off the bed in a lunge, intent on snapping his neck.  
Her snaking combat style was effective at this type of kill.

Alluring, the assassin was fast, extremely fast; almost inhumanly so, but she wasn't fast enough.

Dante somehow raised his arm up and smacked her across the face with a backhanded strike downwards.

Crashing into the floor, she stumbled around.

"I'm tired and worn out. You're not worth killing. But hey, maybe if you came here, it's a sign I wasn't meant to sleep it off. I can keep going.  
I was gonna deal with this 'demonic-return-thing' in the morning after about three hours of sleep. It's no fun when your sleepy.  
Then again, if a Japanese demon couldn't bring me to my damned knees, I wouldn't be so angry. Speaking of which . . ." He grabbed the barely conscious woman up by her hair.

She snapped, rather vexed, and began striking his handsome mug.  
It wasn't working, but never cross a pissed off brit.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, though she punched his wrist, knocking it away.

Christie cuffed the slayer in the mouth three times, each one having little affect, as she kept at it.  
She must've punched this guy over a hundred times, using her zigzag arms and slithering knuckles to batter his face.

All of it failed.

There came a few more defiant attacks, none very powerful.

Eventually, she gave up after a few minutes or so, breathing heavily.

She threw a final fist that barely moved his jaw.

Exhausted, she collapsed on her heels, having to grab the wall behind her to stay upright.

"Did you send Ryu?" He said, stern.

She took a long, truthful look at him. She revealed much about herself, such as that she didn't really want to be here. In the Cambion's eyes, she saw pure rage, a black wolf's insane glower.

It raged on, what had he been through?

"How do _you_ know that name?" She panted, confused and shrinking.

"Oh, a little mermaid flopped in front of me and _**blew off my face with magic fire.**_ " He stabbed the words in her ears.

His voice held an intensity he'd not used in years.

She laughed at him.

"Did _I_ send Ryu after you? Only in a perfect world. Lord knows he's an unstoppable beast now. . . the ideal weapon." She said with a rather erotic grin.

He forcefully clasped her shirt, readjusting his grip, and flung her up on her feet.

Her back hit the wall.

"Too late to go the sexuality route, babe. If you _didn't_ send him after me, who did? What demon lord employs you?" The silver-haired man plied her.

"Demon _-what?_ That's a new one. Rig's been called many things before but-." He smacked her across the face as she was talking.

She spat a small amount of blood on his carpet.

"Misogyny much?" She said.

. . . Silence.

"No, Rig didn't send him after you. And whatever you just said, he isn't that either." Christie explained.

She stared at his face and recalled their moment of intimacy together. She couldn't explain why it popped back into her head, but it was there.  
Fondly, the woman remembered the many sensations he was able to induce in her. Sometimes you just needed to be held.  
His devilishly striking manners lay before her again; she couldn't help but feel captivated with his new, more aggressive attitude towards her.

Sadomasochism was something she rarely dabbled in.

If it _were_ something she tried, she wouldn't exactly mind doing it with him, somehow.

Dante chuckled.

"Heh. You're pretty hard up right now. The pheromones just kicked into overdrive, I can sense it. . . smell it." He said gloomily as he, too, couldn't help but feel attracted to her.

At 6'3, he dominated over her 5'10.

"Hit me-. . . Hit me again." She said.

Lost in her gaze, he felt pulled.

Complying, he swatted her across the face. She made a noise that seemed to be a mixture of pain and pleasure. All the while, she ran her leg up through his thighs.  
He kicked the gun she dropped across the room and forced her further up against his apartment's dark wall. Their faces grew closer and she could feel him pressing up against her.

Gasping for air, she moaned.

She then whispered in his ear, "Screw orders. I'm having you right here, right now and I don't care what he says about it."

His face only an inch away, he outright closed the distance with a fervent kiss.  
A warmth spread over her chest, straight up and down her chemistry. This wasn't some weak romance, or any endless love-type crap.

The assassin's cheeks burned red, and between her legs she grew weak.

Her arms wrapped themselves around his chest.

He advanced to her neck, continuously pressing his lips with a bleakly expressed verve. He was feeling nihilistic today, so he grabbed her and squeezed, a careless whimper escaping her.  
Christie was wearing a somewhat-short skirt and a lovely white blouse. The idea was to be as inconspicuous as possible when approaching the target.

She placed her hand on her breast and tore open her shirt, exposing her black bra to him as he shifted farther down south.

Keeping her brassiere on, he moved the actual cup down to expose her to himself. She held the back of his head as he worked and shifted herself further against him.  
He grasped all her curves, maintaining their amorous envelopment. She scratched him, he spanked her. Returning his interest higher, they reunited, staying interlocked with one another.  
That is, till the woman precociously pushed him back. She gave him a coy look, straddling her hand over the bulge. He licked her lips, she slapped him back.  
Those were almost fighting words, though she grabbed his hair and pulled him back in for another round. She bit his lower lip, shoving her tongue through. His hand grasped her rear, and she giggled.  
Her right leg rubbed against his calf, wrapped around the back of his leg. She moved her pelvis forward, pushing on his front as she kept her lingua down his throat.

She broke away from him, unexpectedly.

The girl violently pushed away, and led him to the bed. As he watched her climb on, she moved to the foot of it and began bending over.

Christie placed her fingers on the bed, and let her skirt hang higher.

She motioned for him.

Then said, "Hit me."

There was nothing more to understand.

The man complied, providing her the smack she yearned for.  
She bit her lips, curling her body out of reflex while preparing for the second.

There it came, just as good as the first.

He repeated the practice six more times, each time earning him a carnal gasp from her as he made them more frequent.  
After this, he switched sides, really alternating more or less, using the same hand for both. He went faster and faster, and she enjoyed every second.

Each twisted groan elicited electric pleasure between them, each little wiggle she gave him granted excitement.

He could've lived without it, but would he really want to?

After reaching a nadir, she moved her tail back into him, pressing her physique against his.

She ground her thighs in a circle, swelling him up.

He reached around, his hands gloveless, and worked on her blouse.

She grabbed her thigh, wanting to jump straight to the fun now.  
Dante groped her chest, moving himself down to her back. When in Rome. . . His hands brushed up to her lingerie, his breath heating her neck.

Eventually, she twisted around in place, wriggling back towards the top of the bed. She picked her left leg up to rest on his shoulder. She was ready, that's for sure.  
He grabbed her lifted limb, soothing her silky flesh with a warm palm, supporting her wispy, robust figure.

Tilting back, she held her head back as she pulled him to her neck. She was quite flexible, her profession demanded this.

His touch felt blazing.

She pushed up so she could put her hands behind her back, going to unlock the strap.

It loosely paraded over her fingers.

Sly devil already undid it for her.

So she moved her focus back to him. She pulled him all the way down, removing his red button up.  
The man threw it aside, and she threw her own onto the desk chair.

Christie brought the straps down her arms and kept her chest covered as she moved the loosened bra away from her body.  
Revealing her bust in all its veinless glory, she slipped her undergarment off, moving her hips in a rhythmic pattern that he couldn't look away from.  
Laying there, her powerful feminine physique was something to be envied.

Her arms were thick and toned. The abs were of a deceiving nature, lean but powerful.

Her iron core gave her that terminal edge a femme fatale needed.

Rolling him over beneath her, she removed his undershirt, and grasped his chest with both hands.

In this manner, their conflict was settled.

* * *

 **-Elsewhere in the city-**

* * *

Akira, screamed in horrible agony as his own energy, once locked safely away from the surface, continuously punctured through his body.  
It sliced open his skin, destroyed his clothing, and warped his prison, this dimension he was trapped in. His flesh gouged itself apart.

At least over a few years of unending agony had gone by now.

Of any of the preposterous things that had happened to him, this took the cake, easily.  
Trapped in a pocket of space time that's dying, much like himself. His fear, his hate; all took shape as whatever it was that was inside him.  
The monster wouldn't let him live normally, not that he would choose to live here.

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't breathe. He was kept in an absolute, constant state of near death.

Demonic surges felt to him like something continuously was trying to claw its way out from all sides.

More time passed. Minutes stretched into hours. The hours inflated into days, and eventually, time lost complete meaning for his addled mind.

All that kept happening was anger.

Without interruption, he felt undying rage. It kept on stinging his soul, his mind, his every little cell.  
At one point, he swore that his skin scorched itself out, burning off from his smoldering fury, but it regenerated.

Well, that's what he thought anyway.

"What the hell did you give me!?" He screamed at the top his lungs, over and over.

His pain wouldn't relent.

Various phrases and curses spasmed out of his throat.

But as the time stretched beyond, he began to become used to it.

It was a strange sensation.

Though it was the same level of pain, it simply began affecting him less and less and less. Brought to the pinnacle of it, he finally quieted down. It's like his tolerance had intensified.  
His nails were just destroyed, broken off and revealing the bloody bed beneath them, and his fingers broke from the furious scratching. It had itched and burned so badly, he didn't know what else to do.  
The fractured man began balling up out of human biology, only for the tears to boil away on his reddened skin.

Akira's resistance to the hurt began to instead emphasize his ire inward.

He was above this.

He could beat it if he tried hard enough.

The vocal cords wrecked, he sputtered a broken meditative mantra and began focusing as much as he could, speaking it repeatedly.  
In his discipline, he was taught that he could overcome physical wounds if he meditated. If he was having trouble doing so, he could use a mantra to give himself a leg up.

So, as more time passed, he uttered the mantra constantly. Droning.

The previous sensations began evolving. Not only did it affect him less, he could somehow 'feel' every nerve and fiber of his being.

This was the farthest he'd ever taken his body.

That entity Sparda, he'd said he was a last minute solution. He wondered what for? Obviously he'd just been the right person at the right time, it could have been anyone where he was now.  
But only he had the mantra. Perhaps the other's he'd spoken of _had_ died, though there were apparent successes he also mentioned. Where were those successes now?

Where had all the people with Sparda's fragments gone?

He experienced numerous new senses that he was unaware of before.  
Almost overwhelmed by it, the mantra kept him on course.

Over and over: the same phrase.

His damaged sanity rationalized the situation and he returned to a form of normalcy for a little while.  
Most notably, he regained awareness of time passing by.

His aura calmed itself, becoming tempered after it had flamed out of control for so long.

The little that he'd been given was enough to kill the barrier on his own power. Whatever was hidden beneath the surface came roaring out.

It bestowed upon him numerous basic abilities.

First, and foremost, he possessed an inhuman spatial awareness.

He could hear the dimensional plane, slowly but surely shifting.

Secondly, and most alleviating, he could _feel_ himself healing. Every little cell repeated, their lifespan growing.

To what limits could that take him?  
The only instance of healing like this he'd ever seen was those old X-Men films.

His brain, once poisoned with fire, had cooled and cured.

Slowly, reality began to sink back in.

His memory returned.

The tormented visions, the slow, dreaded clawing on his insides, eventually ceased altogether.  
His body repaired, this time permanently. Soon, he came back to a quiet peace.

He became aware of the dimension's layout. It had numerous exits and entrances, though never simple fixed points. In addition to the spatial awareness, he experienced growth of his perception.

The feeling of being two places at once returned and he saw Kasumi frozen in time, able to see her in the real reality as well as this own strange one.  
As he came to realize the flimsy, deteriorating mechanics of this frayed pocket universe, he recalled his clothing and it suddenly appeared on him.  
Entirely undamaged, and with all his belongings present, he observed what had happened in the time he had been gone.

* * *

 **-In Reality-**

* * *

She felt cold.

Footsteps came nearer. As Kasumi looked around, she saw Akira was missing.

"Huh? Where did-?" she said aloud.

After about ten seconds, a sudden hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

"Dah!" she let out a yell of shock and abruptly vanished from the building.

The barred doors burst open as police rammed through it.

They inspected the destroyed furniture and the strange lack of presence.

"Search the building. I know I heard them!" The lead officer said as the confused men and women all shuffled off in different directions.

* * *

 **-The Pocket-**

* * *

"Ah! What was that!? What-. . . where are we?" She found herself saying unexpectedly, noticing the differences in an instant, "You did something to me! Where are we?"

The Shinobi pressed him, rather insistent that the man explain the bizarre assault on her senses.

"Let me explain." Akira paused without altering his expression, then said, "No, there is too much; let me sum up." He continued,

"I was pulled into this place that exists outside of our own reality. Time flows differently, and the ghost of the guy in the painting we looked at brought me here.  
Now that that's that, we have to leave so i can find his adult son." Akira finished.

"Wha- Wait, wait wait, What- What _the hell_ did you just say? Stop rushing me! If time is different here, can't we- The ghost of who?!" She said, wildly confused, bouncing from topic to topic.

"This place is on its last legs. I don't know how much time we have left.  
There isn't anything keeping this place open anymore. We need to get out before it crumbles in on us. Fair?" He surmised.

"Uhm- okay?" Kasumi said, supreme frustration clear in her tone.

Akira proceeded to grab and drag her along with him.

"Hey-Whoa! Slow down! I'm not an object, you know!" She said, angry at his adamance on pulling her.

Rounding a few halls, they traversed the strange dimension together. It was creepy, every wall infected with a pulsating, black ooze. It looked like some form of bacteria.

The air outside hung like death, invading their throats without any recourse.  
Yuki's every muscle ached, and he could still feel the pain everywhere, yet his super-tolerance suppressed it.

Odd how that happened. Would he retain any of that invulnerability? Another time.

They came to a dead end.

She huffed at him, exasperated.

"Look up." He said.

Reluctantly, she complied. Up above, the hallway made a complete, abrupt curve into the sky.  
As soon as she saw this, they suddenly began rocketing upwards, the perception of gravity changing in on itself.

Akira and Kasumi fell through a window and out into a courtyard.

He shielded her from skidding on the ground, feeling the jagged, uneven bricks shear into his back.

A trail of red went in their wake.

When he got up, their wasn't even a scuff on his coat.

Above, the sky was a deep, cobalt blue, and the environment was hazy. Various particles of frozen dust, clumped together, all hovered around, passing through them.  
Though she didn't see it, a glaring doorway made of a flowing gold light shimmered into existence. He shoved her into it and quickly stepped in himself.

They re-emerged in reality, not even a few milliseconds after the police burst through the doors.

The two almost immediately ran through the gates of the real courtyard.

A few police lay up ahead, but Kasumi grabbed his arm tight and used her ninpo to zip them to a rooftop a mile away, leaving behind pink flower petals.

They zipped across the sky, tearing through the air. She sat, exhausted.  
Akira, who was indeed rejuvenated, lay on the ground, flat. He could breathe completely clearly.  
The wasting effects of leprous aging undone, he felt far and away better.

The cancer was gone from his lungs.

"God I'm happy that's all over. I have just one question, though." Akira said.

Kasumi perked up, "What's that?"

"Why didn't you do that _**before**_ we got cornered?" He yelled.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

A tall man watched the city from the roof of a skyscraper.

"Dante . . . I'm disappointed." His voice was dark, cynical, "So weak and simple-minded. If this keeps up, everything will fall into place faster than even I anticipate.  
There's just one little annoyance that seems to have popped up."

The man was wearing a dark blue coat with three tails and a carmine coloring its inside.

In his left hand, he held a powerful weapon, the Yamato.  
With silver hair and eye's stained red, the man bore a striking resemblance to Dante.  
He held his right hand up and summoned a ball of energy in it.

He then crushed his fist closed, and the power dispersed, summoning a glowing gate.

A blackened figure stepped forward out of it.

"Ah, Thrergon. Nice of you to show, you pest." The man growled.

A familiar, pale demon, with straps bound to his face and a scythe in it's hands, lumbered forward.

"Lord! I-did . . . as you-'ve asked! But, there w'as . . . a slight . . . complication" Thrergon said.

The man remained bemused.

"You, at least, told him what I _wanted_ him to know. Do you have any idea what happened when Ryu appeared?" He unsympathetically told it as he raised his hand, preparing to smite it.

"But Ver-gil!" It whined in it's shrill hiss, "You-must-. . . list en to me! Dan-te . . . is'not . . . entirely _deeeead_. One . . . of my spy's re'ported to me-." It was interrupted.

Vergil, within the span of no time at all, decapitated Thrergon without moving a muscle.

It's head fell to the ground and rolled in front of Vergil, staring directly at him, distressed and in horrid pain.

"Yes, I'm aware." Vergil said, adding, "The problem is that shows me he is so much more frail than he was supposed to be."

He then returned his thoughts to Ryu, who presented a major snafu to his plan.

"That cur. He stays in hiding for years, then, decides he doesn't like Japan anymore? I will turn that tasteless worm to ash. How dare he disrupt my plans!" Vergil raged.

An indigo-tinged, black aura emanated from his clenched fist. His brown gloves crackled with electrical surges as his wrath soared.  
His hair, spiked upwards and swept back, while one lock remained down in front of his forehead, began to come loose, swaying straight up.

The darkness of his energy produced feelings of dread in the still-living Thrergon.

It was unlike demons to become scared of anything.

"Mas-ter. C-control . . . your anger. There is still . . . a way to fix this." It's head tried to reason, somehow managing to make sounds despite lacking proper organs or any bodily systems to do so.

Vergil relented and his hair fell down.

When left in a loose state, his silver bangs made him appear identical to Dante.  
He swept it back into place again and relaxed.

"Yes, what is it?" He scorned.

"There seems to be . . . someone who hates Ryu . . . even more-, than you do." It said.

The man leered over him.

"Oh? What of this person?" He asked.

"I have heard mention . . . of an organization. You-know them as well. _MIIIIIIIIIST_." It dragged out the word, for whatever reason, "Their leader . . . is at odds with . . . him."

Thrergon really was appallingly longwinded.

Each speech continued on the trend of demented breathing as it spoke.

"A human like him, I would assume he has more than just the two of us as his enemies." Vergil stated.

Upon saying this, he realized that he was right.

Ryu _did_ have many enemies.

" . . . You may have stumbled onto something there. If I culled together enough of his enemies, I could use them . . . Manipulate their hatred of him as a tool for my own ends." He said.

A disturbing glister leaked into his eyes.

"I could-be your plant. I'd . . . interact with them . . . and bring t.h.e.m togeth-." Vergil stomped his boot over its mouth.

"No, you've done enough. This requires a more delicate touch, not another of your missteps. You're a flawed construct: I have much to fix about you." The silver lord said.

His words were vicious and negative.

Each time he spoke, he contained so much malice that it sounded like he was enjoying a massacre.

"Perhaps this time, I require a deposed princess's charm." It's blue master stated as he waved his hand and Thrergon rolled away into the shadows.

A swirling, unnervingly silent vortex opened, and from it descended a gothic being of ancient power.  
She possessed green hair and skin-tight purple and black clothes that appeared from nowhere.

On her back were gigantic, ebony bat wings.

Her face was striking and evil, yet more beautiful than most women dream of becoming.

"You summoned, dark lover?" She exhaled as she hovered slowly to the roof grounds, her chest tilted to the sky and slowly moving forward into accordance with her lower body.

She had a velvety voice doused in a seductive Scottish accent.

Her cleavage immensely risqué, her black boots spiteful and searing, she appeared truly sinful.

"Morrigan, I have . . . a proposal for you." He said, his tall, brown boots steadfast in the wind.

Her face lit up as she prepared to deliver dreamy chaos unto the surface of earth once more.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

She climbed off of him.

The bed was a mess. A picture that hung on the wall had fallen, and an aroma of perfume, men's body wash and sweat pervaded the room.

A devil man and a platinum-dyed beauty lay side by side.  
Breathing was the only thing breaking their silence.

For minutes on end, the two sat without speaking.

Finally Dante sat up. He said, "I have to go."

"Where?" She asked.

He looked back with a charming smile.

"To make sure it's still safe to live in this world." He remarked as he grabbed his clothes. She watched him dress, grabbing his second coat.

He sprayed his preferred scent on himself before he left and put the duster on.  
It was mostly identical to his first, albeit it had slimmer lapels and longer coattails. It was also made of leather, rather than cloth.  
A perfect gunslinger's choice. The lapels themselves were pointed, and though read, they flared out, with buckles at the collar.

He grabbed another pair of black boots, fastening them on.

They were laced instead of zip-ups, as opposed to the earlier ones he'd used.

Shin-high, they made good replacements for the destroyed pair he'd been forced into throwing out.

He left his shop again, this time, more confident.

Maybe she'd altered the chemicals in his head: Women.

Just before leaving, he stopped and stared at something hidden. It was an object of power. . .  
It was an orb of green flame, resting itself atop an invisible pedestal. Both couldn't be seen really, not by humans anyway.

Right. He'd severed that from himself, deciding not to risk carrying around that level of power.  
For fear he might hurt someone. There was always that fear. . .

This once gave him a power, a great skill, most useful in a bind.

Perhaps the next he'll meet that man, he'll be able to use it.

Placing his hands around the Greek fire, allowing it's stinging touch to embrace him again. He lifted it up off the stand, clutched between his fists.

The slayer forced his palms into his chest, and the sphere pierced his heart.

It burned like nothing else.

And so it was bonded with him again.

He left.

Stepping out, his eyes flashed emerald, then glowed a dark crimson.

The afterburn faded back to his frosty blue as he kept walking, determined.

* * *

 **-Back Inside-**

* * *

Inside, Christie sat in contemplation, her legs curled up and her arms clasped around them.

She saw the television in front of the bed, but didn't bother touching the remote.  
Instead, she stayed still and thought about things.

Dante took her by surprise. Why was he so magnetic?

How did he do those things? What about him completely overwhelmed her? She'd never been outright thwarted during an assassination.

Her musing was cut short by the ringing of her work phone.

She answered. A voice spoke to her.

"Hello, hello . . . ? I know you're there. What have you been doing? I trust you killed him as instructed, yes?" Rig asked.

"Hmph. The bastard was too fast. I fired at him and he fought back. Rather a shame.  
He got away and he wasn't even hurt. He bashed me against a wall a few times. I don't know what he is, but he isn't human." She said into the phone.

A kernel of truth could be found in her statements.

She began looking at her feet, and noticed that the nail polish had been chipped.  
The bottom soles were damp, having retained some perspiration.

"You sound groggy. He knocked you out, I presume . . . God damn it. Is he really that good?!" He rhetorically asked.

She cracked a naughty smile.

"There has to be a file on him. There's no way my father let this man come so far without keeping _some_ kind of tab on him. What was his name again?" Rig asked.

"Dante." She said clearly and distinctly.

There was some silence on the other end.

". . . -That's it? Oh, let me guess! Another mononym?" Rig asked angrily, having not forgotten about her previous sexual tryst with him.

"Let's see, let's see . . ." He said as he due diligently searched, "Oh . . . fuck."

He blurted uncontrollably, affected with what was probably a mixture of fear, frustration, and something similar to self-loathing.

"What is it _now_?" She asked.

"He's Sparda's kid." The militant supervisor stated the words without emotion, "Get out of there. We need to regroup and rethink our strategies."

She didn't like that, "Wh-Are you sure?"

On the other end, she heard him breathe heavily. She rolled her eyes.

"Until I tell you different, stay in hiding: you're good at that. Find some info we can use, if it occurs to you, then get your ass back here." He continued.

The man refused her acknowledgment.

"I'll get right on that." She said after he finished.

Her voice grew deep, filling itself with frost.

He hung up, she put the phone down and continued sitting motionless.

After hearing all of this, all the peaces fit together.

Sparda was reportedly one of the only people in the world that DOATEC could _not_ control or influence through any power was far beyond humanity's.  
Considered by Donovan to be a god who wouldn't govern the people, the man attempted to gain his friendship, but instead. . . Earned his wrath.

So, his machinations greatly suffered for this.

Christie had come to know of Sparda because Rig often compared him to Ryu. This was strange for her.  
She had no concept of this person, whoever he was, but if Dante was anything to go by. . .  
Someone who wished to live out their life silently, but willing to protect humans when directly called upon. Admirable.

But this was a cruel world, not one meant for the heroic types.

They were _so_ exceedingly similar, apparently. . .

Or, it was more of Rig's bullshit.

But, that _would_ explain why Dante wasn't easy to exploit. That's why he could do all those feats without breaking a sweat.

He really wasn't human.

She didn't know what Sparda was exactly, but she new anyone related to him was far from normal.

While mulling this over in her head, she felt so much smaller in comparison to the politics of the world. . . Her world at least.  
She deeply pondered going to leave the man's apartment, or staying and waiting for him.  
If she waited, she would risk losing her position with MIST, which afforded her many amenities; even her life. But she wondered how things might turn out if she did decide to stay.

Would something more than sexual develop between them?

'Perhaps.' She thought.

Would they live together? Would they even get along?  
Difficult questions purveyed her conscience. The hedonistic tendencies within began to scream out.

'Take the easy option!'

It wouldn't leave her alone.

'Go back, don't stay!'

What was this feeling?  
This phobia of losing something important, it conquered her. She struggled to come up with a proper solution.

Ten minutes later, no one was left in the building.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, Downtown-**

* * *

Dante walked into a medium sized bar, his equipment hidden. He strolled over to the brown counter, then sat down.

The stools always sucked here.

All the walls were lined with bricks, giving it a real lived-in, Chicago-esque feel.  
From the outside, it looked like one of those old midwest pubs.

The bar patron directly next to him acknowledged his existence with a nervous smile.

"H-hey. What brings you down here, man?" He said in a hushed tone.

The guy didn't really have a clue.

"Hello Roger." Dante said in an equally low timbre. "There's something I need from you."

Roger was a rather chubby, middle-aged man. He was balding and had a graying goatee, wearing casual clothing.  
The man had helped him before, but it was in limited cases.

Primarily, he was a psychic of sorts.

Often, he used his ability to help locate demons and drive them into extinction, but that was before.  
He was also capable of finding humans quite easily, but the last time the two did business, things went very badly. Neither would bring it up, but it left tensions high.  
This had forced Dante to begin taking a different approach to finding his targets.

"Hey man, I can't really help you right now. It's late and I'm a little busy here." The man said, his trepidation growing.

Dante gave him a firm scowl.

"Don't play with me. Right now, some big 'things' are brewing. I got my skin flayed off by a Japanese demon after I beat a mentally-disturbed grim reaper into the pavement.  
The latter of the two could only talk in weird moans, which was just damn frustrating. The thing told me about my _own father_.  
That's the first one in a few years to show up, it even killed people in public. Remember the last time they did that?" He said.

Roger was a little shocked.

"They're back? In public? You're sure?" He asked.

The older man was given an insulting expression. The scowl remains the same.

"All right, you're sure. Well, come with me to the back and let's see what we can find." Roger reluctantly stated as he went over to a black door on the right of the serving table.

It didn't have any signs. He knocked on it and it cracked open a slight bit.  
A figure in the shadows conversed with him for a small minute. The door then closed and a clicking sound was heard.

It unlocked itself.

Opening up, there appeared to be no person standing there.

They stepped through the corridor into a stark-white, clean hallway, devoid of life. The duo walked through, coming into a small, oval room that contrasted with the white passage.

Alternately, the room seemed as though it was a tidied, warm office.

Roger went to a bookshelf and grabbed a strange dark brown tome.

When he opened it and began scanning through, he slipped a pair of reading glasses on.

"Grim reaper type? Hmm. I remember you ran into a few of those. . . But from what you're telling me, it sounds different than them." He said as he looked down for a picture.

Dante suddenly reached into his pocket and produced a cut out piece of paper from one of his own books.

"You're looking for this. All I have is the illustration. The name is worn out on mine. Not a very good copy." The hybrid said plainly.

Roger looked over, staring long enough for his eyes to refocus.

"I recognize that kind. Looks like this one's a bit more souped-up than the others. . . Ah! Here, that about right?" Roger exclaimed as he turned the book around.

Lining up both images side by side, the resemblance was mostly all there.

They were different interpretative drawings of a robed demon, and a human-like face contorted by any manner of devices.  
There were several examples of the different sub-types. One displayed mechanical gears, another had lacerations and wires that pierced and stretched it's face.  
Gruesome, grizzly. . .

"Yep, there it is. A face only a mother could love." The devil hunter quipped.

"Says here that this is a Jinn-type. It doesn't have any shape shifting powers, just really strong.  
Also has better intelligence than most demons. Didn't give you much trouble, did it?" The aficionado asked casually.

"No. It was the one after that. Is there anything here about 'ninjas?'" Dante pressed him for more.

He flipped throughout the book.

"Afraid not, then again this isn't about Japanese demons. I'll try another." Roger said as he grabbed a different volume with embroidered gold character symbols from the Japanese alphabet on it.

Again, no luck here.

Instead, he showed his friend a picture of all the shinobi-related creatures featured across it's pages.

None of them matched the one he fought.

"It couldn't be something new. . . right?"

"They're demon's. There hasn't been anything new since plants started growing in the ground. . . Does it say anything about whether or not you can make a Jinn?" Dante responded.

The man scanned through the book.

"Hmm, yes, but you'd need a human soul to do it."

Immediately, this shot the entity's words back into his head. 'Infernal Threshold Gate.' What did that mean?

He hadn't even heard the term before.

"You got anything on an 'Infernal Threshold Gate?'" The slayer asked, going out on a limb.

He pecked and searched again, but Roger couldn't find anything related.

"I'll check the 'Resources and Enchantments.'" He replied.

Another game of hunting high and low.

Nothing.

"No luck man." He said, closing the book and setting it down on a coffee table.

Well that was worrisome. This thing wasn't even in a book. What the hell was it?

"There's one more thing I need you to do then." Dante decided.

For some reason, Roger looked pale at this.

He nervously tried to sidestep what he knew the man was going to ask.

"Oh, you know man, I don't really know. _That_ didn't go over so well last time we did it." He said.

" _That_ was last time." The silver haired man pointed out.

"Yeah, but _that_ was very dangerous. It was only a few years ago." He grew increasingly nervous.  
Continuing, "Besides, I've got a killer cramp in my side and a huge headache, the doctor said it might be stress related so, you know, I can't-." He was cut off.

"I have been thrashed through a building, stabbed and shot, fallen over a hundred feet twice, and I've been incinerated. At this point I'm not really interested in arguing, bud.  
So please, just this once. Don't procrastinate about it. I need you to find the location of someone named Helena Douglas." Dante said.

He figured that if anyone could help him find something out, his first clue could be with the people who sparked it all. He needed to know who this Ryu was, demon or not.

So, rather than tax the medium to find two people, why not kill both birds with one stone and only focus on the single?  
The coordinates he got from Christie were destroyed anyway and he hadn't enough time to memorize them.

The talented ESPer hesitantly looked forward, reluctantly agreeing.

He took out a large piece of paper and some paint, then laid them on the desk.

Drawing a specialized insignia, he then muttered some kind of incantation while placing his hand openly on the paper.

The older man began using his unique ability to summon information that was not his mind's right to acquire.

The marking he made began glowing a bright purple.

And, almost immediately, trouble began.

The entire building started vibrating. When he ascertained the location of the woman, images of an attractive blonde female entered his head.  
Other facts about her came into his knowledge as well, such as her height, weight, age, and place of origin. After he dragged up the necessary details, he finally gained the critical piece his friend desired, the location.

He exited the confines of his mind and the vibration ceased.

He collapsed backwards.

Dante caught him and noticed new grey hairs.

Loosely, through his hazy stupor, he managed to tell him what he needed.

"She-! Ah-She's-. . . She's at the DOATEC HQ in New York City."

Roger then gave him a snarky comment.

"Wow man, you really know how to pick 'em. Your luck with women change or somethin?'"

"Well, I have been meeting some different kinds of people lately." He retorted.

"That's about all the humor I can muster for now man. You gotta get out of here." His friend said, as urgent as you can when you're exhausted.

Managing to force himself to remain awake, he tried to explain to his friend.

"Aw, what's up? No time to share a drink with an old friend?" The silver-haired man said.

"No . . . no, it ain't that. They got to me man. When I was putting myself out there, a scout interloped me. They know we're here . . ." He faded away, body strain taking his consciousness to rest.

As he passed out, his friend laid him on the couch.

"Well, that's a problem." Dante said to himself as a new tremble swept over the building.

Loud crashing and violent banging occurred as the shaking ramped up. He turned and looked at the hallway door.

Solemnly, the man trudged forward and opened it, overhearing a pack of demon's crash forward through the bar roof.

Eventually, one burst its way in through the other entrance to the hallway.  
It had a dominant chest and was inhumanly tall, with legs cocked backwards, as if it were an anthropomorphic, hairless werewolf.  
It's head looked like a zombie.

The lips were pulled back by a metal clamp around its mouth, leaving raw, crimson gums.

It had dark tan skin and concrete muscles larger than any body builder.  
Gleaming red eyes shined hostility, and immense, seven inch long claws replaced the fingers.

Rags that used to be clothes shrouded the beast's lower body, and on it's elbows were short, dulled spikes.

Held in it's massive hand was the head of the bartender, stuck; frozen in a state of morbid suffering.

"You look happy." The huntsman remarked.

He snapped his fingers and his weapons appeared.

The demon squashed the head into bloody chunks of grey matter and skull fragments.

It roared and stormed forward as he grabbed the Rebellion, but kept it holstered, running forward through the white hall himself. Eventually, he released the blade from it's resting place.

He slashed forward and cut its chest.

Though a thick, long wound, it acted as though it was merely a surface scratch and the big behemoth continued forward, attempting to pinch his head and neck in its long grasp.

Flipping back over it, the man fired two shots with Ebony as he went.

Both bullets impacted it's eye and encroaching hand respectively, stifling the monster for a brief moment.

Rolling through the air, he completed his descent.

He landed and pushed all of his strength to his front.

Propelled off the ground toward the creature, the slayer-inertia slashed at its neck.

The mindless, roaring beast attempted a pinching claw against him. However, it mistimed the attack, only catching the edge of his coat.

It's head sliced clean off.

As it was projected into the air by a fountain of blood, he pointed Ebony back and shot a solitary, charged bullet.  
The electricity-coated projectile blasted its way through the stream and right into the skull of the creature.

Disintegrating on contact, nothing but it's blood remained, staining the bright halls with vivid cherry paint. Hell was worth all that?

This, too, disappeared. It turned to ash, blowing as dust in the end.

From it's degenerated corpse spilled a crystallized orb with a face of pain etched in.

Dante cracked an eyebrow up. The other's hadn't dropped anything.

Nevertheless, he approached the object with confidence and familiarity. He outstretched his hand forward and seemed to absorb it into his body as soon as his fingers reached the oval object.

A crackling surge of power come over him. He walked out through the destroyed, clawed-up door into the desecrated tavern.  
Dead bodies were crunched into the ceiling corners, suspended in place by sticky masses of human mulch around them.

Intestines hung from the fan blades above.  
Mutilated corpses and ripped-open faces stared back at him.

The abominations in the room were all of the same ilk as the one he'd slain. Brutes.

They were eating pieces of human gristle and shoving organs into their foot-wide jaws.

He acted indifferent to the emetic scenery.

"Seems like you guys have no respect for privacy. This is the second time I've caught you doing something in a public forum. You wanna get after me that badly?" He asked in an insulting tone.

Derision was his middle name.

The gorilla-sized creatures looked at him with strange zeal.

Their teeth were bloodied by the feast. Smaller human body parts stuck out between each razor point.

"There's the enthusiasm I like! Let's rock!" He said as they all charged at him.

Dante defended with a flurry of gunshots, then sliced through the first demon's waist, swinging with his right hand. The blade stopped halfway through, causing the angered Brute to swipe at him.  
He blocked this with his left arm, gun still clasped in hand. The claw-fingers impaled his forearm but he bore the pain with calmness. If there was anything mom taught him, weather the storm.  
Veins pumped with tranquil fire, sucking darkest clear. His mind remained cool.

The demon visibly reacted with slight confusion, using what little intelligence it had.

Dante readjusted his grip and twisted the thick brand, causing the demon to hiss and spit gore.

It staggered back and the second monster attacked, but the man forcibly moved his arm backward, causing the talons to begin shearing through his limb.

This also dragged the demon he was tussling with forward.

The second monster wound up tearing into the first's bicep.

The fibers were weakened enough that the slayer was able to rip it off entirely, just by using his weight.

It howled.

He then looked at the second monster and gave a smirk as he fired another suffused shot through it's forehead. Striking it mid-swing, completely shearing off the scalp and obliterating it's brain.

Subsequently blown back on top of its charging ally, the third creature stumbled away.

The preceding monster's body dissolved and another orb poured out.

Dante was prevented from snatching it by the now-one-armed-demon when it slashed his right shoulder.

He grimaced as it dug its other claws through his flesh to the bone. With bloodshot eyes, he shook loose the detached limb and drove Rebellion up, cutting up through the savage's chest.  
He let go of the handle and batted off the spike embedded in his upper back before shooting it in the shoulder. With it distracted, he then plunged his right thumb into it's eye, gouging it out.  
The slayer almost took pleasure in it, driving the finger in and tearing at the lens' surface first, then making it further in till he reached the optic nerve.

Scraping his fingernails against the side of it's head, he gnashed his teeth.

The creature reared its head back and roared in pain. It stood straight up and he was lifted off his feet, supported by only his hand, burrowing into the side of it's skull.

Dante moved his thumb slightly and caused its head to twitch to the right, swinging him around to kick the encroaching fourth beast in the neck.  
The first kept staggering to the right while he shot the fourth in the same spot, through his own foot.  
The pain was excruciating for both, but at least he was satisfied that the bullet lodged itself inside it's sensitive throat.

The first flailed it's remaining arm and attempted to rip him off, but the demon hunter brought himself back in and put his feet on the handle of his own sword.

He pushed off with all the strength he had, and he ripped his thumb out it's socket, kicking the Rebellion completely throughout and into the third creature's abdomen.  
It was lifted off it's feet and blasted into the wall, struggling to pull itself off.

The demon killer was still amid the air, shifting his knee into it's face.

He rammed his joint so hard he knocked it down on it's back.

It struggled to get back up with only one arm and a smashed jaw bone.

The knee force them apart, and the slayer went flying.

Dante landed on a table, and was immediately attacked by the fourth and fifth beast's.

Brute's were annoying, as much as they were fairly durable grunts.

He blocked the fifth's strike by shoving the barrel of his pistol into the palm of it's barbed fist and pulling the trigger.

Blood spatter into the thing's face.

It backed up, it's hand smoking with a new hole.

The man stepped over and dodged the fourth's downward, two-handed crush, which destroyed the right side of the table instead, and he drew Ivory within an instant.  
He pointed it at the Brute's temple before it could readjust it's gaze.

Bang.

Pieces of bloody encephalon, cystic sludge and demon skull plastered itself against the wall.

The fifth returned but suffered a boot in the side.

Refusing to move, however, it instead grabbed him by his left shoulder in retaliation.

Jostling him up off the teeter-tottering, destroyed table, it threw the man at the wall. He hit the enclosure and fell on his side.  
A broken beer bottle lodged itself in his ribs as his head cracked on the hardwood flooring.

The fifth rushed at him and attacked with a leaping stomp maneuver.

He brought up Ebony.

The man fired off a round through the foot.  
The bullet passed into its knee and he rolled back into the wall when it's leg collapsed from the full-weighted impact against the injury.

It shifted instinctively into a crouched position clutching the joint.

Dante shoved his silver gun into its mouth.

It's entire crown burst open, smoke trails billowing out of the burnt crater following the electric blast.

He stood on his feet and wrenched out the bottle.

The first Brute, having finally gotten to it's feet, tooled around through the human bodies before taking another swing.  
Dante ran, throwing the remains at it's face as he slid on his knees, underneath its rough attempt.

He twisted around into a smooth stance, continuing to slide a few inches more before coming to a complete stop, the back of his heel bumping a disfigured carcass.

He pointed both guns and fired relentlessly at the demon, its regenerating body being chewed through inch by stubborn inch.

Eventually falling to its knees, it collapsed, half it's physical form liquefied into soaked meat.

Yet, it still drew breath.

The third demon finally pulled itself free and tried to attack Dante from behind. It was met with a sudden roundhouse kick from the hybrid.

His boot was so strong, it completely broke it's mandible clean off.  
The detached jaw was sent flying behind the bar.

Seizing the sword, still in its stomach, he flushed the weapon up.  
The top half of the creature bisected in two, turning as he did to face the last beast standing.

Rebellion's tip relaxed on the floor, held once more by it's master.

Every demon dropped an orb or two.

Pointing the blade at the remaining Brute, its lower legs were reduced to mere bone fragments and mounds of rotted, flesh-covered muscle.

Both of its arms were now missing.

He didn't think twice.

* * *

 **Until next time**

* * *

Gave this a little tweak. I realized the manifest thing is a bit dumb as it just takes empty space now. It'll serve as the epilogue one day, as well as a receptacle for my trashy notes.

Other A.N. entries in the manifest, thank you.


	12. Fear and Loathing in Edgemere

**The Subway**

* * *

Tina walked by many strangers as she followed Zack.

Who was he really here to meet?

A lot of the time, she simply considered herself a pretty face, not much ever factored in to what she did with her time, because it was usually fighting.

And then, of all things, there was Dante.  
Dante, Dante, Dante. This last day of hers seemed to be based entirely around him.

He beat her, then he beat her father, then he fought death in the streets for no reason.

By the look of it, he was beating that too.

They shared one lousy smooch in a b-grade arena and suddenly her dad, the media, and even many of her friends were in a massive flutter.  
She wondered how the man in red might react to this. He seemed like the kind of person who lives off the grid, and for good reason anyway.  
No human could have broken Bass' jaw and not had to have treatment for at least a few broken fingers.

Zack was thinking about something else entirely.

He was going to see his girlfriend for the first time in two months.  
She broke his heart outright. She'd cheated on him, yet they still worked together; managing and retaining many of his assets.  
This included the company he'd founded after 'winning' the fourth tournament.

Every time he thought of her, he saw the man that poisoned her, Jann-Lee.

He wasn't racist, but maybe a few unsavory words left his mouth at that precise moment.  
At least he had an excuse, but his ex continued to hassle him about racism each time they spoke, with Zack having limited the interaction to only phone calls.

As both thought about many things, a stranger suddenly bumped into them.  
He was wearing a hood and had a young woman with him.

Tina and Kasumi looked at one another, and recognized their opposing faces instantly.

"K-Kasumi!" Tina sputtered, as she couldn't really believe that they'd encountered one another for at least the third time now.

This one was finally face-to-face contact.

The ninja looked at her with similar confusion.

"Tina?" She said calmly.

The two women were never really close. If anything, they hated each other more than they respected themselves as fighters.  
Kasumi had barely any regard for her, often considering her a simple-minded, greedy, egocentric type.

The pro-wrestling starlet held an equally low opinion of her, primarily disliking the girl for being uptight and serious, often ruining her fun during the tournaments.  
Their interaction really was limited, however, leading to often tedious, tension filled meetings whenever they did happen to cross paths.

"So, you still haven't gone back to yer village?" Tina fumbled the question into an insult by mistake.

"You can't be rid of me that easy. Why? Afraid you'll get shown up?" Kasumi said, rather bemused at her apparent rudeness.

She responded with a similarly negative statement back. Tina became angered but tried to remain cool.

"I'll ignore that. Lets start this over. How are you?" Tina said, managing to turn her visible frown into an enthusiastic smile.

Kasumi took notice and decided she would play along with Tina's seemingly genuine attempts to be civil.

It didn't go very well.

Within a few minutes, the two were back to arguing. Kasumi tried to be friendly, but rather misspoke herself, then Tina reacted badly and said something barbed.  
All this led to Akira and Zack having to pull them away. After it was clear the only result would be a catfight, the men then started talking.

"So, what's your story?" Akira said to him.

The eccentric man responded notably.

"Man, I'm tryin' to get our asses to cover and now the women gotta go startin' beef with each other.  
I _was_ trying to make some money, but then the guy I was pushing sent the opponent to the hospital, then he and Tina kissed and _it is four in the morning_.  
Then that first guy went and fought another dude in the streets, bunch a people are dead and I'm left wonderin' whether any of this shit's getting on the news.  
What about you?" Zack replied, releasing one forward cranial 'ha!'

His delivery made it seem like this was an everyday occurrence.

Akira simply gave him a long and profound look.

"What? That a little too off kilter for you?" Zack asked dryly.

"I got stabbed in an alleyway by a group of average teenagers, then woke up in the hospital next to this random woman." He said.

His internal thoughts:  
 _'I walked out, fought her for a little while._ _Then the police showed up to try and kill us, where upon which we both ran across the city and got cornered into an apartment building._  
 _It held the ghost of a demon who sucked me into a parallel dimension where the flow of time runs much slower and bestowed me his remaining power- Did I really just say that?_  
 _Then I spent twenty years learning to control it until it no longer bothers me, so I'm around 60 or something, good god what the hell is happening? Am I insane?'_

"Anything else?" The man said, caught off-guard by the simplicity.

"No."

"Uhuh."

More arguing in the background . . .

"Well, I _am_ wondering whether or not we're being followed. Of course, we've had a few run-ins with the police." Akira said, leaving Zack slightly bewildered.

"Okay, so you know the struggle. Wanna come with us? We're gonna go to a safehouse and chill for a while till things settle down." The man offered, respect palpable.

"No thank you. I'm looking for someone right now." Akira stated sternly.

"Hey man, I'm a very well connected person. If you need help finding anyone, I can help." Zack stated, confident in his abilities.

The hot-headed fighter looked skeptically at him.

"Really?" He asked, "You can help me find _anyone_? I don't really believe that." Akira said, believing the man rather incompetent.

"Believe it. I'm so much of a people person, it's not even funny!" Zack said enthusiastically. Akira looked at the awkward man's goofy face.

Well, why not?

"Alright. . . I'm looking for a man named Dante."

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me." Tina piped up, surprisingly using crass language. 'There's no way!' she thought.

"Oh! My man, you're in immense luck today. I know exactly who you're talkin' about!" Zack chirped, a greasy enthusiasm that was also strangely genuine beamed from his face.

"Something wrong?" Kasumi said to the blonde grappler, looking at her with disdain.

Nothing like a little girl on girl rivalry.

"Oh, nothin.' It's just . . . The damn rabbit hole goes deeper." The woman stated, sighing as she came to grips with it.

"You really know him? I'd love to see that." Akira skeptically commented.

This simply gave Zack a bigger opportunity.

"You doubt my powers? Come and hang with us. You'll find out." He smiled.

Akira observed a solitary gold tooth shine. Classy.

He thought it over. Maybe following the man who claimed to know the mysterious person wasn't such a bad idea, considering that his forced traveling companion knew the other one as well.  
The man seemed to be alright off on his own, if not delusional. At the very least, this kind of thing might take years to carry out. Expediting the process through a hunch couldn't hurt.

Oh, and the authorities might be after them.

"Very well." Akira said, almost entirely reluctant.

Zack took no notice and instead virtually leapt for joy.  
They began waiting for a while.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-** **The destroyed bar**

* * *

Dante zoomed across the room in a split second, driving Rebellion through the last demon's head. The stinger shredded the skull and severed it from the mandible.  
The jawless-skull went sailing, propelled by the sonic wave, and, during it's descent, the man timed a perfect kick.  
It's head cracked open, hurtling into a wall, where it exploded on impact. A single eyeball remained stuck to the wall at its root, the bloody tail hanging there limply.

The iris stared out at the room, haunted.

Red orbs floated everywhere, suspended by pure radiance.

Dante stood and calmed himself as he placed his weapons back in their proper slots. He looked around at the senseless carnage.  
The crystallized demon blood pulled in towards Dante, his own aura intensifying to draw them towards. Bonding into his cells as he touched them, the slayer almost instantly felt stronger.  
He'd need to be, considering the recent defeat. A remaining hatred intensified.

"Oh, how I've missed these." He commented on the sensation.

When he'd faced all of those others earlier, they hadn't dropped any. How peculiar? It _can_ happen, but it's rare. More frequently, the reason is the demon is younger.

Fresher-faced. . . Newly created, newly born.

Dante began pondering on this development, and realized that if none of the demons dropped these orbs, they must be exceedingly new. Potentially only a few weeks or months old.  
If the demons weren't coming from hell, they were being created by someone else here on earth. The Infernal Threshold Gate. . . Someone has been manufacturing demons. It took long enough.  
But who would have the necessary relics and rituals? Who could be behind this swarm? It explained a lot, such as their decision to recklessly attack him in public.

The master of these puppets must be someone unknowing of Daemon laws.  
It figures. It's probably an overzealous priest or a demonologist gone mad.  
It's happened before, enough times that he had these assumptions.

He then thought back to when the monster told him he wasn't the only spawn of Sparda.

'He couldn't really mean. . . He's dead.' Dante thought as his powers begun to increase.

In his troubled youth, he started off weak, weaker than you'd think.

His powers originally stemmed from his humanity, often times depending how strong his body became, rather than how strong his demonic astral connections were.  
It wasn't until he killed his first demon that his powers began elevating. Building it up, he unlocked more and more of the hereditary power Sparda gave to him.  
The crystallized energy acted as a catalyst of sorts, granting him greater access to his father's resources at the same time as giving him minimal boosts. He'd grown rusty in the years of downtime.

Thinking about someone like himself, someone stronger than those demons he'd managed to defeat, imbued him with a ripe rage he hadn't felt in a long time.

An image of Ryu's katana cut through his mind.

His fists tightened, and the darkened bastions of the nighttime cityscape outside suffocated his light of hope.

He left the morbid scene behind, returning to the now-dimmed hallway. He walked forward through the green door, still intact, and came back to the oval room.

Roger was sitting exactly as he left him.

He woke up and looked around. The room seemed fine, yet he appeared confused.

"Man, why are you still here?" Roger inquired.

"Six brutes is all, they were meaner than any I've seen in a while. Place is a bit destroyed, though. You should probably set up shop somewhere else." He answered.

"What!-? . . . How bad is it?"

"Ya remember the lawn mower scene from Braindead?"

Roger recalled the excessively brutal, gory scene with much reluctance.

"Oh- Jesus! Alright, lets see what happened this time." He said as he attempted to stand. His legs, though not broken or damaged, buckled underneath him and he slumped back over.

"God _d_ _amn_ it!" He shouted,"This is what I get for helping _you_ , a premature fucking grave!"

The shouting unnerved him, he'd never seen Roger this angry at him.

"I was like 'No, man I have medical problems, if I do it again its gonna tear me up,' trying to hint to you that _maybe_ something bad will happen when I do it again, but no!  
All I got was, 'hey man, I'm an angry white guy who's seen some shit!' and then it was all down into the ground from there. Do you even realize what this does to me!?"

Pained and aging, the medium spat vicious insults in his ears.

He couldn't believe that he let Dante talk him into doing something stupid again.

His friend could only look at him with sympathy. The monster hunter was disappointed in himself; he let an old friend down.

"I'm sorry. . . Wanna head to the hospital man?" Dante asked.

It was the least he could do for the guy, considering.

"That'd be the thing to do, yeah!" A clearly frustrated Roger spoke, criticizing Dante as he moved to pick him up.

Dante hoisted him up over his shoulder by his arm, helping Roger walk to the door and through the hallway. The pain in his body became apparent.

"Ah god, man, it hurts! . . . I can't feel anything below my chest." Roger stated as he began to breath heavily.

His lungs were weakened and he suddenly looked very much like a man in his late sixties, his health failing him. It was hard to imagine that he was only two years _younger_ than his silver acquaintance.  
The devil knew where he'd hid all these years. In his hands was a tool for use, why wouldn't he come looking for it's use? He supposed it was something he could understand, but still.  
Roger's health wasn't worth this horse shit.

They walked down the hallway and Dante told him to close his eyes. When they reached the corpse-infested lounge, Roger did so. The gore was something he didn't need: Better he didn't look.  
Emerging outside, Dante realized that the nearest hospital was roughly a few miles away. Well, that's just beyond perfect.

"You got a car still?" Dante asked.

The embittered old man looked at him familiarly.

"You think I'd give that up in a city like this? It's the only safe way to travel half the time. . . It's the old Camaro in the back." Roger replied.

As he was helped around the building, the duo hurried through the alleyway to the back parking lot. Stumbling forward out the other side of the passage, they found an old, 90's-styled black Camaro.  
Red trim adorned the sides, it was a relatively inconspicuous design. Blinded by remorseful panic, Dante hurriedly moved the psychic to his vehicle. Roger felt his pockets and luckily found the keys.  
He unlocked the car and was promptly placed in the passenger's seat. Dante darted behind the wheel and took the keys. The engine sparked to life after a few moments of twisting the old ignition.  
They sped out to the highway, and it's motor roared into the skies. It kicked into various different gears; Dante rushing as fast as he could to get down to the nearest hospital.

They arrived at a new, smaller hospital than the one he'd been near previously. Thankfully it wasn't anywhere near as crowded as St. Nevermore.

He walked in and checked Roger into the Emergency Room.

The elderly man's state had deteriorated greatly. By the time they had made it to the parking lot, he had already lost the ability to see and had become frighteningly skeletal.  
Liverspots formed within minutes on his forehead as they searched for a spot to park. His hair turned completely white.

When he was brought in, the hospital staff assumed that he was Dante's father and almost immediately took him to get medical help.

Around forty-five minutes after arriving, Dante received word from a nurse that the man had died from Myocardial Infarction, an acute heart attack.

This couldn't be real, the fear of loss was something he shouldn't have had to feel anymore. Another piece of him, his history. . . Robbed.

The moment was sobering.

He merely sat in silence at the revelation, guilt weighing down upon him as he realized that he was solely at fault for the man's death.

On his own, he'd managed to hurt himself again. Why did he keep doing that? He only meant well.

He focused in on the sounds of the city to distract him.  
A car ran a red light and crashed, only minutes away. A couple were arguing on the street, another getting kinky in a bathtub in the apartment above.  
Elsewhere, a man was pulled over on the side of the lane, his interest in the cleavage of a desperate young woman negotiating price with him.

The loud sound of an intern writing down information on paperwork inside the building broke the focus.

After cueing into it, he stared directly at the nurse and then away before she could look back.

Dante looked up at the clock on the wall. He'd spent ten minutes spacing out. A moment later, he got up and left, silently returning and taking the car, only one place on his mind: DOATEC HQ.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

As the demon hunter left the hospital behind, they transported the dead body of Roger into the morgue, intent on keeping his body in storage until properly sorted.

As the corpse languished there for a half hour in silence, a sudden wind picked up and, out of nowhere, a dark blue fissure cracked open inside the poorly lit, abandoned room.  
Out from this strange vortex, Vergil arrived, Morrigan in tow. He looked around and successfully located the body of Roger. He summoned a blue sphere with a tormented visage burned into it.

Shoving the globe into Roger's chest, the man revived. In a split second, he was back into his youth revitalized. Absorbing the energy completely, the raising of the dead was accompanied by moans.  
The wails of the dead were always musical to Vergil's ears, the mere sound of it reminding him of his nature as a being stronger than life. The Cambion stood back, the formerly-deceased rising up.

The untimely death undone, his new deal served out to his own ends.

"Wonderful work, my pawn." Vergil said, his specific vocal affectations ringing with the trademark morose patterns.

Roger stood with a somewhat happy look in his eyes.

"I did my part, as you asked. I go my way, you go your's. Right?" Roger asked as he relished the return of his former youth.

Vergil almost smiled as he explained.

"Oh, you're not close to being done yet. The deal was a newer, younger vessel. But your soul is under my domain now. I control it. Your body now holds a devil's power; coursing all through it's veins.  
The prime condition for descension. . . I will make you suffer more than you ever thought possible, betrayer." Vergil had standards, he'd use Roger's betrayal despite frowning on it.

Now that the task was over, the pieces set in motion, it was time to punish this crime.

He nodded to Morrigan. Roger reacted right away, raged and confused.

"What!? The deal's done, you promised! No one owns me. Why did you- Are you kidding me!? This is bullshit!" He yelled, Morrigan drifted forward.

"What are you-. . . No. No! Stay back from me. Keep away!" Roger squealed in vain as he groveled back to the wall, the dark beauty hovering a foot off the ground.

Her supple flesh masked her twisted nature, the soul of another dwelled inside her vessel.

And, drawing steadily towards, a mad grin drew itself on her face.

The memory of her transformation made Vergil smirk, his work molding her paying off.  
She was his now, no one else. That vampire-lover of hers would be destroyed as soon as he returned to their domain. He just needed a few things first. . .  
Roger outright panicked as she grew closer and closer, her altered eyes glowing larger and larger. Eventually, she was only inches away, her malicious fingertips moving toward his terrified face.  
He was unable to defend himself, a daunting fright overcoming him when she embraced the wriggling human in her arms and forcibly kissed his lips.

Morrigan was a demonic princess, but not just any kind. She was also a succubus, able to corrode or kill humans with the touch of her lips or any other 'bodily fluids.'

As her saliva sank into his system he began to writhe around in pain, his skin beginning to blacken and his heart beginning to dry out and crack.

Slowly, the pain drilled right into his soul, the orb betraying him. As the veins glowed blue, the body flung up and crashed into the ceiling tiles.

It trembled, the body flailing inhumanly as his bones blackened.

Crashing back down to the sullied laminate, his skin swelled to robust proportions.

Tick tock, tick tock.

Time passing by, rendering feelings inert, crushing his mind, crushing his spirit as the hair begins to fall out.  
One by one, the brown little pins hit the ground, incinerating, grinding to dust as arms, spread out and sprawled, grew large and crooked. Exhales turning to bays and croaks, the skin bubbling and tearing.  
The body, it contorts, breaking bones into new positions. So warped was he, the smashed dreams of his new life taken for the sins of treachery.

The ripping: The tearing: The crying: The bleeding.

Pincers burst from the mouth, jutting out like mountains from faults. As his whimpering dragged on, his tongue bitten off, becoming moot and dead.  
The back broke open revealing ugly spines while rubbery flesh fell to the floor, macerating without end.

Gender being robbed from him, he grew and grew till the room would not hold. Hands turned to hooks and the hooks turned to beastly claws. Legs surely vanishing: the clock running out of time.

New limbs exploding out, covered in scorching acid, armored and flanked; twelve new friends to play with.

Unending suffering in its belly transformed sullen yowling into high pitch screeching.

Tearing away, scratching and gouging, this soul is undoubtedly burning.

Dread does not begin to describe the monster before them all. Shadows appeared and fell. Foundation's rupturing and vestiges of humanity disintegrating, second by second.

Stripping away the fibers, the arms splitting large, pincers carving through the chunks and out to become mountainous plates all over.  
Dust and corpses ground to a pulp, instead a lower body, a new arachnid shape encroaches, stinger accompanying. The muzzle became torn open, destroyed entirely.  
From it's dark maw surfaced a bellow of savage waves.

Eruption of volcanic ash and rivers of boiling blood rupturing out from the umbra, only darkness could filter through.

Cells broken down, once so structured, turn to quietus as the inferno grows.

And in the place of a human sprawled forth something horrifying, unknown. Colossal, white and orange with avarice, the noble friend turned demonic thing, crawled.  
An inhuman, massive, armored and scaled torso was attached to the gigantic undercarriage of a spider with thick, destructive arms.  
At the chest was a glowing blue gem, a crowning feature of wonder to lure in the weak flesh. Memories remained, tears of blood flowed from it's draconic eyes.

The dark mastermind behind this degeneration, this unholy destruction of the anatomical form looked upon his creation with a sickening grin, glad to see the satanic uprising of the fiend.

It was ready to lay it's spawn as he and his Scottish companion drifted above the carnage.

Mortal remains, burning cars, destroyed rubble were witness to the apocalyptic laughter only a devil could bring.

Beholding the beautiful madness, his aims were growing closer.

It ravaged everything in sight, blasting victims with the gory, scalding embers, leaving them petrified, slumbering statues.

While the creature moved back towards its master, completing the task of killing every innocent human around them, Vergil, so high above, raised his hand.  
Palm facing downward to the ground, he surged a wavelength that harvested the poor souls, absorbing the power of the damned as though it were crystallized demon blood.  
It was like candy, adding to his sweet collection.

With a vivacious, murderous look on his face, Vergil snapped his fingers and the newly christened Afrit disappeared along with the gothic temptress, together.

Teleported elsewhere, the trio left behind smoke and boulders in the addled city.

Malevolence had left its mark.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- At the DOATEC HQ.**

* * *

Helena sat watching the news report, telling of two strange terrorist attacks that plagued Edgemere, a city that lay a good distance west of her own glorious, east coast metropolis, New York.  
Specifically, the streets of Manhattan, where this company was bred from nothing on Earth.

She really couldn't believe what she was hearing.

Deaths of at least 1,300 people in the effected parts of the city, on top of an unprecedented 2,200 reported missing and over 5,600 left injured in the wake of the city-wide destruction.  
This included a suspected non-nuclear bomb of some kind, a 'strange natural force' and even a theory being discussed about possible anti-American warfare.

The estimations were expected to rise immensely over the next six days.

In any case, White House representatives gave their opinion of the ongoing city-scale crisis being endured.

Most repeated the same rhetoric and fear tactics used for the last twenty years, and all of them proved to be completely unhelpful in their discussions about the matter.

Helena was very angry over the current state of affairs in congress.

The stale, rigid status quo that had become politics enraged her and her many colleagues, to a point where she thought about possibly organizing a paid protest to simply raise awareness.  
Of course, what good would that do in a world that systematically ceases to care? Another thought that occurred to her was to somehow influence the gerrymandering of the districts. It might be fun.  
Someone needed to influence the senate somehow, other corporations did it all the time.

Then again, DOATEC were in enough trouble already fighting MIST. She sat quietly watching, clipped of her wings before her chance to fly.

Suddenly, an irate Bayman came through on her office phone, patched through via her secretary when he used his com-link channel to reach her.

She pressed the button and answered in her trademark French accent.

"To what do I owe this call?" She said. She spoke without emotion, something that often unnerved many.

"You want an update!-? Here you go, uncensored and unedited. I arrive to investigate and there's no forensic evidence of any use, other than dead bodies." He said, continuing on,

"Get this, the only DNA found that does not match any of the victims isn't fucking readable by any means. It's a complete sample. That should be damn near im-fucking-possible!  
But somehow, _oh somehow,_ we managed to trail the events of what happened." His rant was somewhat longwinded.

"Come to find out, there was a gigantic fucking explosion at the end of the trail that completely destroyed the entirety of seven city blocks. Seven!"

He came across as angrier than she had known him to be, perhaps so high above she'd been living blindly.

"Then we find this. . . Zombie-thing. And it turns out to be a spiteful bitch because it takes off running faster than any Olympic athlete I've ever seen.  
Not to mention, the entire squad of officers I have to lead is grossly underprepared and lack proper experience when it comes to dealing with threats like this." He stated, his story becoming more intense.

Seething and bleeding, his voice began to run itself hoarse.

"Anyway, this thing escapes!" His irritation reaching a new level, "A fucking Zombie escapes my patrol and then we can't even find the path it took. Then, get this.  
Somewhere else in the same city, apparently Godzilla decided to attack and leveled an entire god-damned county, leaving no one alive. That's been the last few hours of my life after I left HQ.  
How are you!-?" The Russian screamed visceral frustration.

Helena remained calm and seemingly unmoved.

She had clearly recovered from the other day but remained fixed to her intentions.

"I'm fine. Are we close to finding anything out about the. . . Zombie, at least?" She asked. Her head officer could be heard sighing in an attempt to calm himself.

Things aren't what they used to be.

A mollified version of the man answered.

"Well, as what small luck would have it. . . Yes, there's _something_ , but it isn't anything brilliant. All we found were fingerprints on a door handle.  
The material is pretty resistant to encoding, almost as if the thing it came from wants it to stop communicating with our machines. So at this point, the entire investigation is fucked."  
The former mercenary explained as best he could, becoming exasperated once more as he spoke.

Simply talking about what he had been doing the previous few hours riled him up.

"That's good enough. Work on searching until you can find out something about this 'Zombie.' In the meantime, I have to take a meeting. We will reconvene later today." She said.

The sun was barely rising. She had only just finished getting a shower and dressing. Her famous French blue dress was glistening in the twilight.

When she finished her reassuring orders, she hung up.

Bayman, on the other line, was standing inside a truck with people using computers. . . To do _something_ important, he was sure, as he walked back out and met Wilhelm again.

"Sir! We've found something new." The soldier stated.

His temporary superior cocked an eyebrow.

"Really? What is it this time?" He asked.

"It isn't much, but we've managed to find a piece of a dark jacket. It seems scannable for cellular activity." Wilhelm told him.

"Finally, some good news. Return to your task, I'll handle searching the parking structure. You!" Bayman pointed to a random soldier.

"Take those two with you and scan the perimeter. We don't want something new popping up. You see anything 'bad,' alert everyone else and try not to engage the target directly. Understood?"

The soldiers responded with an affirmative and they all went their separate ways, investigating.

Bayman knew this would not be the end of his task. More than probably, he would be forced to investigate the second site soon.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- Riding along in a transport.**

* * *

Akira quietly sat meditating. As the others conversed very little, Niki, Zack's ex-girlfriend, attempted to break the silence.

"Ay, yo. Any of you people back there into films?" She asked but received no response.

She decided not to pursue it further. As the time went by, the hush was finally broken when Akira began to grunt in pain.

He exhibited irritableness and general anger before, but this seemed different.

Kasumi noticed a change in his demeanor. Usually, he stood strong with his prominent chest leading outwards. However, he had changed his posture to a stooping position.  
His torso was sunken in and his back was rounded.

'Ow. Thought I was past this.' He said to himself as a slightly overwhelming pain took him for a small moment. It was the same, a very deep, clawing sensation from within.

It subsided but he was left with a peculiar commotion inside.

He looked physically drained to the others, and decided to take a gander at his own hand instinctively.

A black spot with little lines running out from the center, appeared on his hand, almost like cracks in glass.  
Though it wasn't present a moment ago, it looked as if it always was.  
He kept the corrosion hidden but Kasumi was not stupid. She looked at his subtle expression of shock.

"What's wrong with your hand?" She asked, that kindness bleeding through even though she didn't much care for him.

He looked at her with a sudden return to form, the weakness in his eyes departing and his comportment returned to normal, the pain suppressed with fine mastery.

"Dirt. Are we there yet?" The irritable fighter quizzed Zack as he made a brushing motion to his palm and subtly kept it hidden from plain view. Niki replied instead and wound up insulting him.

"Oh, I'm sorry Mr. serious. I was just trying to get an armored transport vehicle through traffic on the freeway without killing anyone.  
I'm really sorry that this has inconvenienced you so much. You ain't got any patience in that thick skull."

This did not help ease the tension.

An enraged Akira proceeded to bang on the wall of the vehicle; also ensuring he did not hit it hard enough to leave a dent, and angrily responded.

"All I asked you was how close we are! The next time you decide to play tough, pull over and we'll see if you have talent at fighting at least." He searingly threatened.

Zack almost looked Caucasian; he was so pale with fear. No one had really ever stood up to her before.  
The strongly spirited Niki refused to back down, hurling more insults back at him.

He got very mad, eventually to the point where his own anger began to worry him. He wasn't human anymore. As the argument escalated, Tina jumped in.

"Both of you shut up! I don't know which one of you is more hotheaded, Jesus Christ! Just enjoy the rest of the ride, and fer the love of god, be polite to each other!" The southern beauty exclaimed.

All arguments ceased. Silence returned.

A feeling of isolation almost overtook the back compartment where they were sitting. A few hours later, the sun was in the air and the new day began.  
Most everyone was exhausted, falling asleep at different intervals in between limited conversations. Often they would be low in volume, meandering to nowhere fast.  
After a long time of traveling, they finally arrived at their destination.

* * *

 **-DOATEC HQ-**

* * *

As they stepped out of the vehicle, Kasumi was a little surprised.

"This is the 'safe-house' you were talking about? This is where I was trying to get to in the first place!" She said. It was clear she was annoyed by something.

"If this was where you were trying to go from the start, why are you angry bout' it?" Tina inquired, confused as to why Kasumi showed this emotion.

"Because, I was _supposed_ to come here with Ryu!" She said, her frustration primarily directed at her old friend, who'd become adept at disappearing.

It was at this moment that the aforementioned ninja suddenly arrived out of nowhere.  
His presence stunned everyone, most specifically Niki.

"Who the fuck is this now!-?" She asked rhetorically, knowing that any answer would sound insane to her.

Alas, this was missed as she received an answer anyway.

"My name is Ryu Hayabusa, ninja and former associate of DOATEC." He said plainly as Zack recognized him..

"Yo man, whats goin' on with you? How you been since the last one?" Zack said in reference to the previous tournament.

Ryu calmly responded.

"I'm well, thank you. How's everything with you and Niki?" He asked casually, completely ignoring her as she attempted to cut in their conversation.

"Nah, we ain't together anymore. I caught her cheating, so that bridge burnt, know what I'm sayin?'"

Zack also ignored Niki's rather embarrassed reaction as everyone glared at her with a new derision.

Things got heated.

"What the fuck you tellin' 'im that for?" She angrily said as the two just continued on.

"I can see what you mean. You must have had your hands full behind the scenes. Anyway, I've actually come here for another reason.  
While I was attempting to track down and meet back up with Kasumi, I discovered a strange energy, one familiar to me. I found it was incredibly close to you and it's still present. Right here, right now." He said, the others baffled by this revelation.

They grew worried; Ryu never lies and neither do his senses, even though they could be tricked.

This appeared not to be one of those situations.

Akira was the only one who behaved differently. He stared down Ryu's grimace.

"Are you the same as the one I fought in Edgemere?" The man hesitantly asked him, knowing that shape-shifters were rare.

The veteran fight-competitors scowled at one another.  
Akira thought about what the man said and realized; could the 'one in Edgemere' be the one he was supposed to find?

"What was his name?" He asked hopefully; suddenly insistent.

"Hmph. You're not him, then. You have a similar aura, unlike any human I've come across, but there _are some_ noticeable differences.  
I just need to ask you one more thing. What are your intentions?" Ryu finished.

Akira felt insulted by the ninja's refusal to cooperate.

"I'm looking for someone. It's very important. Please, what was the name of the person you fought?" Akira asked, a hint of urgency layered in his voice.

The ninja looked at him tense.

His hands tightened into fists as he began to prepare for a possible fight.

He replied in a deeper tone, "I didn't learn his name. He wasn't a good guy."

Ryu really hadn't obtained that man's name, having instead told him his own. He could see flames welling up in Akira's vision.  
At the same time, the strange aura this man bore suddenly altered into the exact feeling of a fiend.  
He immediately stepped back into a stance, his right hand clasped around his Dragon Sword.

Akira also slid into his own position. His rather open attitude returned to his former closed-off, callous approach.

His face furious, he looked the ninja in the eye and said, "I don't know you. You don't know me either, but if you want a beating I can put you up."

Ryu decidedly took his hand off the handle and instead readjusted himself into his fighting style. Their auras could be felt as vibration by those untrained. Tina in particular was sensitive to this.  
Kasumi was the only truly 'switched on' person present, as she stood back in awe of the demonic power Akira was releasing, and the sheer degree of vigor she could sense from Ryu's body.

The two disappeared.

Within seconds, a sonic boom exploded from nowhere as the combatants moved faster than they could see.

The brawler flew backwards and landed on top of a privately owned truck. He immediately jumped off, unharmed, and evaded a follow up attack from his ninja oppenent.

The shinobi crashed into the vehicle, causing it to explode. Jagged fragments of metal and glass flew out, but he still emerged unscathed and jetted towards a still recovering Akira.  
The two met into a powerful standstill. Their hands fastened into violent holds against one another, knuckles interlocked.

Both of their muscles bulged through their respective clothing. Ryu remained Zen while the other man was visibly struggling, much like Dante had.  
He was clearly dominating the grapple as the energy they were giving off became physical. Fury unbound, the malevolence forming true.  
Wind picked up and eventually, Akira kneed him in the chest, breaking the struggle as the dark swordsman stood back momentarily and dodged a right cross.  
He used his palms to deflect and easily block the flurry of attacks hurled his way by the powerful man.

Eons and eons of fists, all dodged or countered.

Finally, an opening presented itself.

Ryu suffered a knee in his stomach and seemed to react like he was feeling pain, while Akira followed the blow with a subsequent left swing to his hunched face.  
He stumbled back a bit as the coated assailant delivered another right punch into the shinobi's shoulder before quickly striking him with the same hand in the stomach again, in the span of a split second.  
Elements of Wing Chun in his purist Bajiquan.

The dark assassin faltered as Yuki transitioned into a full body shoulder strike.

His left arm outstretched into the air, fingers clenched in a fist, and his right limb mirroring downwards, he stepped with his dominant foot forward.  
Shoving his full body weight into Ryu's chest, the empowered bruiser sent the assassin flying across the parking lot. The attack was magnificent.

Hayabusa tore through several employee cars, bounding away until he hit a motorcycle.

The vehicles were left tattered and Ryu's short-sleeved hermit coat was dirtied and scratched up. Akira lunged up onto the roof of a van and leaped over to his position.

He landed and observed him stand to his feet, undamaged.

Angered, the ill-tempered fellow attacked with renewed resolve, but this time, his opponent was entirely too prepared for him.

Ryu countered a punch, this time grabbing hold and pulling his arm up as he elbowed the man in his ribcage.

Akira stumbled forward, coughing hard.

He caught a roundhouse kick to his chin and flipped onto his back. Blood began to foam from his mouth.

He was grabbed by the throat and lifted up until his feet no longer touched the ground. He was struck with the signature dead-eyed stare as his opponent began to squeeze the life out his neck.

"Jesus Christ, let im' go, man!" Cried Zack as they had all earlier run over to keep up, all while begging them to stop.

Crunching and cracking rung, Akira gasped for air as he drew hurt breaths, his airway slowly closing.  
He grabbed his killer's arm and his wrist but the iron grip wouldn't break.  
As he began to lose control of his motor skills and things turned black, a sudden gust of air flew by.

Kasumi intervened, holding her own elongated wakizashi at Ryu's neck.

"That's enough, put him down." She said as her friend turned his head to look at her.

"Why? He's weaker than the one I fought before. It would be easy to take him out, he's just a distraction to the mission." Ryu said to her.

He saw a look on her face that resembled something he used to know.  
It seemed recognizable to him but also alienated. He'd not experienced it in years.

"You care for him? Hayate taught you better. Never let emotions cloud your mind." He said, however, he soon realized that it was _not_ out of attraction or feelings of love that drove her to stop him.

"He's my friend. He may have an abrasive personality but he has saved me. Any ally right now is invaluable, you used to know that." She said as she decidedly remained unwavering from her position, maintaining the weapon at his jugular.

He reluctantly took a mental step back to analyze himself.

A few seconds later, Akira hit the ground.

His neck was broken but he continued to breathe as the bone snapped into place in a painful display of his healing.

Ryu stood away with his back turned. The kunoichi sheathed her sword as the others continued to observe quietly. Akira pulled himself up, miraculously uninjured.  
The group were not used to seeing something like this. All of them, save Kasumi, demanded explanations.

"What are you!-? I get that the other guy is superhuman, which is something else entirely that I can't even _begin to understand_ , but you! How does someone just walk away from that!-?"  
Niki ordered him to tell her.

She couldn't fathom his ability.

Zack had a slightly different response.

"Wow man, you're amazingly talented. I'm looking for new, unknown fighters with lots a' strength. It's a long-term kinda deal. You can make some big money with me! Whaddya say, huh?  
Let's talk about it?" He said, almost completely recycling his conversation with Dante from the day before.

Akira glowered to him, pondering whether he should pound him into the ground for disrespecting his status as 'unknown' or whether to choke him to death for wanting to monetize his skill.

Tina stared at him with facile wonder.

"Where do you people come from? If it's not one, there's three of ya." She said to herself.

Akira heard her and reminded himself to ask her later whether or not the first person she was referring to was Dante. Probably given her reaction to his name.

"Well, uh. . . I'm a mutant?" Akira defended, almost trying to test their reactions.

"I'll believe that." Kasumi said though she knew the real explanation. He eyed her and couldn't help but smile.

She took notice and smiled a little back.

The others simmered incertitude.

"Hell, I come from WWE. I've seen undead morticians, mimes, an' even massively unprofessional screwjobs. I'll believe anything at this point." The wrestler remarked.

She indicated the ridiculousness of her profession had further cemented her desire to leave it.  
So many years of being forcibly kept so limited by her father, a great deal of her prime was now wasted in her eyes.

"Anytime you wanna break it wide open, call me, man." Zack said, handing an amusingly over-the-top business card to Akira.

It was decorated in strange hues, with the catchphrase 'Ashy to Classy' written above his name and phone number.

The man's rage boiled but he kept himself restrained.  
The impresario took no notice of his reaction.

Niki remained silent, making it clear she wanted nothing to do with any of them. After she beckoned to the time, the group acquiesced, walking inside.

However, Ryu, who put his hand on the fighter's shoulder, stopping him.

They slowly turned to face each other, like a pair of old west gunslingers.

"You may have her a hundred percent convinced, but _I_ am not. I know your aura; it's evil. Cross her, or any one of them, and I'll make you soup" He spoke these words particularly harsh.

Akira looked at him with a stretched eyebrow.

"Is that so?"

"Trust me, I know what to do with fiends like you." Ryu threatened as he then walked past the older pugilist, leaving him alone in the lot.

He gazed back at the ninja, his new enemy walking through the doors.

Scoffing, Yuki turned to walk inside as well.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

God why was this sooooo dry!? I really didn't put that much detail into this AT ALL.

It felt barren, not even in that stylish noir way either, more like 'he did this, then they then did this. He said, She said, inquired to be accepted,' etc etc etc.  
Anyway, glad I finally went back to this one, it's been a long time coming. Things changed were actually fairly minimal, though I removed more inane stuff like the explanation of Dante's powers.

The red orbs really shouldn't have been a thing in hindsight but it always bugged me how the anime just ignored it outright, despite it being mostly solid.  
I mean, whats actually happening in-game as he's killing these monsters? Is he slurping the blood? Is he just absorbing them ala the animation in game?  
It's stuff like that that bothers me in the series, I just want some clarity but of course, Capcom never fucking gives that.  
Yeah, I saw the trailer for DMC 5. It's following Nero, joy to the world. He wasn't exactly my cup of tea then, though he looks more interesting now.

Going back to the same anime writing style as the fourth game doesn't equal success, but we'll see.

Sure, the gleefully over-the-top action is great and all, but does any of it just feel the tiniest bit dated to you? I'm left baffled by the rose-colored glasses everyone wears.  
I'm more interested to see a horror-tinged style, with less of an emphasis on the more conventional approach of dmc4. Call me crazy, I'd like a different product than just the same damn thing again.  
Not to mention a plot that makes sense. It hasn't happened since the third game came out.

Enough negative vibes though, this is meant to be about creativity, not anger.

* * *

Anyway, rant aside, this rewrite took way too long, and can be summed up in three songs:

 **Memory** by **Council of Nine** , **Dyer's Eve** by **Metallica** , and **Motoko's Dream** by **TheEnigmaTNG**.

Enigma is an independent electronica musician who, if you haven't listened to yet, is one of the finest undiscovered gems in this era of music.  
His dark atmospheric stuff is a great influence, as is Dark Ambient artist Council of Nine, who serve as my main source of music for Hell's Bells.  
Engima does have some annoying dubstep stuff that sounds outdated, but check out the rest and it's sure to be awesome.

That's all for now, please leave a review if you liked this update/and/or are reading for the first time. All are welcome, see ya later.


	13. Heart of Darkness

**-16 Years Ago-**

* * *

The skies were in downpour and lightning struck the ground in the backdrop, illuminating the field every so often. The ground was soaked and muddy. Fires abounded, fighting the rain in a never-ending clash of natural forces. Amidst the turmoil, two young men were battling with distinctive blades.

One, the Rebellion: The other, Yamato.

Vergil was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt underneath a black modern duster coat and cargo jeans with shin high black boots. He did not have gloves on and wore a thick blue band around his left arm.

Juxtaposed to him was Dante, who was shirtless, instead preferring to wear a simple red leather coat open and brown baggy cargo pants with shorter military boots left lazily unclipped. A single brown leather strap went across his chest.

The two were bleeding and grievously injured. A seventeen-year-old Dante looked to his older, identical brother. It was unclear yet what they were fighting about, but it was serious.

Dante swung forward with a typical strike but Vergil took the opportunity to slice his abdomen with a right-handed slash. The wound did not slow him down as he braced himself and brought his sword down to the ground, grinding through the dirt to build up strength.

Rebellion swung upwards and made a gash in Vergil's back. The swipe stung viciously and prompted him to retort with a violent stab attack that was deflected as his twin brought Rebellion's guard in the way after bringing the hilt to rest on his left shoulder following the previous maneuver.

The interlocked blades created more sparks that lit their current area on fire. They caught flame as they continued to exchange sword strikes with one another.

Dante wound up gaining the upper hand after a few seconds, attacking with a downward strike, cutting his chest open diagonally. He followed this with a side slash that ruined Vergil's lapels and generated a new wound.

Dante then lurched the blade back, now pointed directly forward at his brother before unleashing the tip forward in an impalement strike that he repeated in a rapid-fire manner. Finally, Dante dropped into a 360 and brought the blade around, building immense power that upon being unleashed sent Vergil flying back several feet. He landed on his back and rolled a few paces more.

He got up, dirt in his raw, throbbing injuries.

They charged at each other again and began attacking with expeditious fashion, the sonic blades piercing through liquid droplets.

As water sloshed against the charred earth, footsteps traversed the black gloom. The fire cooled in the rain, leaving holes and surface burns in their clothes and skin. Vergil gripped the handle with both hands intently. He brought the edge laterally and was blocked.

Dante brought his own blade upwards against his shoulder to counter and knocked him back some. He then swung it down crosswise, his brother slipping naturally into an upward opposition.

He twisted the blade around and countered another strike, this time grinding his heel back into the dirt.

Vergil stood his ground and shoved his younger sibling away, following up with a downward right slash against Dante's face, creating a massive gash on his handsome face.

He fell down to his right knee and received a stinging puncture through his left shoulder, becoming hoisted up by Yamato's hold. He fought through the pain, stabbing Vergil's side a moment later with his right arm.

The two stood in a writhing clash until Vergil finally pulled Yamato upwards, cutting through the tendons in Dante's left shoulder. Similarly, Dante spitefully tugged Rebellion out sideways, ripping out a huge chunk from the other man's side and cracking away some of his ribs.

Both fell back to the ground, Vergil collapsing onto his katana, using its grip as a crutch.

Dante slumped back onto his knees, holding his bleeding shoulder intently. Both of their egregious injuries began to heal as they stared at each other, out of breath.

Through panting, the youthful slayer said, "You bastard . . . You really think . . . I'd let . . . you get away with this!-? What you did . . . Mom, Sarah . . . my daughter . . ." It was unclear if the water on his face were tears or the rain.

His counterpart looked at him callously and laughed.

"The arrogant Dante dares to cry before me? So I killed that whining tramp. She brought shame upon you with that girl. You dare to criticize me . . . when you were the one who knocked her up in the first place? This is your fault! I simply stuck by you . . . did what was best for our bloodlines." He said, also exhausted and breathing heavily.

"That gives you no excuse for what you did to mom!" Dante shouted. Vergil looked into his eyes.

"That wench? She approved of your little spawn. It wasn't good for us." He said. His brother was unconvinced.

"You've gotta be kidding me. It wasn't just that! I know you too well, there's always an underlying reason for everything you do." Dante said, accusing him of passive aggression.

After a moment of thinking, he nodded and spoke the truth.

"She never loved me . . . only ever gave you love and attention while she left me to rot. I didn't get any love from father either, all he showed me was his wrath. They made you so smug . . . Is it any wonder how I turned out this way?" There was silence in regard to the question.

"I am sorry that you feel that way, brother, but you _were_ loved. I trusted you, I respected you!" Dante began to seethe with rage, his muscles swelling. A dark red aura encompassed him.

"Oh, did you now!-?" Vergil yelled. He continued, "We were supposed to stick together! And what did you do!-? You were more interested in intercourse with nobody-whore's at school; that cesspool. You left me behind and alone. No, brother _they_ made you weak but _I_ set you free." Vergil responded with similar vitriol.

He clenched his fist in front of him, his own anger bubbling to the surface in the form of inky blue energy.

"All of our neighbors . . . those innocent people. You know perfectly well that dad would have stopped you if he was here." Dante said, tattoos beginning to form all over his upper body. Vergil saw these and did not know what to make of them.

"Nonetheless, I'm willing to forgive you." Vergil said as he forced himself to stand.

"Now that they are out of the way, it can go back to the way it should be; Brothers in arms as we discover our true power. The power of Sparda." Vergil said.

Dante merely responded with a powerful shout.

"Fine. I suppose I'll have to beat some sense into you before we can get back to basics." He said as he double-gripped his katana, standing steadily in spite of his side having not healed entirely.

Demons suddenly rose up from the ground and surrounded them, some were Brutes, and others were small flying bats. Several appeared to be wailing specters with gigantic rusty scissors, known as Sins.

There were also several giant lizards that crawled on all fours and looked built for a tropical rainforest with claws and a shield attached to one arm. They had intensely armored heads, making them very durable and effective at charge attacks. These were called Blades.

They lunged forward at the two and, though it pained them, they begrudgingly worked together to kill the demons. Vergil summoned his scabbard to him and placed Yamato inside, still holding the handle afterwards. He then pushed off his feet forward and disappeared as he sliced and cut through several demons. He returned to his exact spot that he left and slowly sheathed Yamato until around one inch was left exposed.

Upon forcibly shoving the rest of the blade in to make a clicking sound, a sudden burst of wind picked up and beams of purple-tinted light appeared all around them, piercing and crushing their enemies (Slash Dimension).

Dante threw Rebellion sideways across the field where it began spinning by itself, almost possessed by something. The blade spun and sliced off the limbs of numerous creatures, as it did, the young man drew Ebony and Ivory.

He shot a Sin in the head with Ivory as he also aimed to his left and blasted an approaching Blade in the face, sending it backwards as it flipped over and crashed into a Brute.

He continued to shoot at the Sin as he changed directions with his right handgun and shot twice at an ice demon, ripping apart its left leg.

A Sin with a scythe snuck upon him and planted it into Dante's back-right shoulder, but Vergil zoomed to it and attacked, his sword still sheathed when he landed on the other side. It suddenly burst in half when a half-second later, an energy slash of plasma erupted from nowhere and cut through it. The scythe disintegrated from his younger brother's back.

The two siblings stood surrounded, their backs to each other. Vergil was noticeably a small degree taller than his twin.

They remained silent and serious as their attackers crept upon them, all ready to attack in a second wave. The Rebellion returned on its own accord after having forced the crowd of creatures to back up.

Dante caught the blade given to him by his father and clasped it with his right hand, his left holding Ebony.

Dante pressed forward immediately and slashed through a Brute as it came at him with a razor sharp claw. The creature cut off Dante's front lock and then turned to try to counter attack but was shot through the head by the black gun.

Dante wasn't even looking. At the same time he reverse-gripped and plunged the edge of the sword against the jaws of a Blade, grinding through its meaty jowl mid-bite.

It closed its muzzle and thrashed Dante upwards and around as he fired at its head, only for its armor to protect it.

Not one to be discouraged, he let go of the blade handle and went soaring.

He directed himself toward a bat and allowed his right arm to be bitten by it, using his new air-born vantage point to shoot several demons. He flailed around as the creature attempted several times to gnaw his limb off. Each time, the bullets hit there targets accurately as he dismembered and maimed numerous demons around them.

He eventually shoved the barrel of Ivory into the creature's nostril and blew off it's head.

The man dropped out of the sky and pointed both guns down, slanted out diagonally, spinning as he unloaded every single bullet that kept demonically generating inside the clips.

The bullet spray shredded the mandible of a Brute and wounded several more agile Blades and Frosts. The bullets passed through the Sins, who began to circle around Vergil mainly.

The eldest had utilized his Judgment Cut to kill three Blades and a Brute, and then he dashed through the air in a black streak, impaling the floating body of a Sin in its neck.

He then beheaded it.

As he looked around at the wailing ghosts, he smirked and appeared to teleport to right in front of another, red Sin, driving the Yamato through its skull. The others floated towards him as the crimson-tainted demon reared its head up, delivering Vergil high into the air above them, though he retained his grip and dislodged his weapon from it's socket.

As it evaporated, Vergil prepared his weapon and when he and the others were in alignment, he unleashed an extremely powerful orb of blue energy slashes with a charged spin attack that cleaved its way through them.

While descending, he spotted Dante struggling to reclaim to his sword against the a group of Blades. The Dark Slayer pointed the tip of his blade down as he repositioned himself, letting his torso fall first, his arms outstretched pushing Yamato down by the bottom of its hilt while his legs pushed against the firmament.

The attack worked as planned.

The broad, curved blade forcibly pierced the armored helm of the demon, crashing through and killing it, as Vergil kicked the freed Rebellion to his brother, who grabbed the handle when it effortless flew into his grip.

Dante forced his bloodied hand on the icy crest of the Frost's head, physically holding it back when it tried to charge him, as he swung his blade as hard as he could.

He cut its cranium in half, revealing bits of blue brain before the sword master slammed the edge again the other way, underneath its chin.

Instead of a clean cut, he purposefully made the swipe a blunt bash. Its upper body flipped over sideways as the gun slinger quickly drew Ebony and shot its exposed grey matter. He placed Rebellion on his back at the same time and drew Ivory again, using it to shoot left and hit a Brute in the forehead behind his back.

With Ebony pointed forward, held sideways, he fired a bullet at a Reaper, then quickly changed positions to shoot a Bat to his right. As he continued to expel bullets out, he did not move from his stance, only moving the direction of his arms.

Numerous demons charged him at once as he shot them all and often stopped them mid-air.

He would shoot them again, sending them flying off into a hale of fiery brush. He shot the legs off a Blade and then shot a Sin in the head after ignoring it to draw it in.

Suddenly, a Super Brute, that was massive and grey in color by comparison to the normal variety, confronted him. It lunged and withstood his gunfire, refusing to stagger. As it did, it came at him with a claw strike.

Dante quickly holstered his guns and timed it just right. He drew Rebellion into an upward-right defense pose, rolling into it as soon as the giant hand attempted to strike him.

He resultantly severed its hand clean off. The man then used his momentum to swing horizontally left, double-gripped as heavy as he could.

Rebellion sheared into the Super Brute's neck but did not completely decapitate it. It regenerated its muscles and tendons around the blade and entrapped Dante into a bear hug, crushing his back. In the process, it's hand grew back though it now lacked its thick, leathery hide to cover it.

As the red slayer's pain rose, so did his anger. He used it to channel his rage into an all out physical break. He was left exhausted temporarily on the ground.

When Vergil speedily sliced through numerous demons, carving into their heads to kill them quickly, he left numerous delayed energy slashes that violently destroyed their bodies. He pushed off the ground again and flew through the air at sonic speeds as he impaled the Super Brute in its chest, causing it to tumble backwards.

The dark spawn used this forward energy to flip over, gracefully avoiding a crushing arm attack and then landing behind its head. He used his leverage to tear Yamato through its skin, easily cutting through its torso but met resistance from its collar bone.

Dante, recovered, slowly charged up demonic energy into his guns as he aimed. He pulled the trigger and sent mid-sized, radiating red energy blasts out. One hit the Super Brute's encroaching left arm and it exploded outright, leaving a stump on its torso.

The other impacted a flying Sin that was attempting to attack Vergil from behind. It impacted, turning it into bloody pulp before dissipating.

The Super Brute attempted to grab the older brother with its remaining arm but was met with a slash attack when he pulled out Rebellion. The beast turned over on its chest and picked itself up within seconds.

Dante jumped and delivered a drop missile kick into its lower back, causing it stumble forward as Vergil shoved Rebellion straightforward into its head when it toppled over on top of him.

The Super Brute turned to ash a split second later.

All that remained was a Reaper demon (A much lesser version of Thrergon).

Vergil smiled as he tossed Dante Yamato. The teenager took the sword and projected his own power into it, striking forward with a crimson ki slash that traveled several feet and sliced the demon clean in half in the span of a few milliseconds.

The battlefield drenched in blood and water, the sound of torrential winds and howling lightning filled the silence. They returned their scowls to each other.

Vergil smugly stated, "See? Without me, you would have fallen. I even let you use Yamato."

"But you took my Rebellion without asking. Once again, you're just a bully who wants to dominate." Dante said, causing his smile to die down.

"Very well. I guess I'll just have to teach you another lesson." Vergil said as he readied a weapon foreign to him.

They charged at each other full-bore. Vergil zipped across the ground, leaving behind indigo orbs and delayed sword strikes swirling around. Dante dashed through the air and managed to avoid most of the swirling spheres but unintentionally passed through one and received vicious slices to his wrists and neck.

He fell out of it and into another one filled with even more powerful prerecorded slashes that knocked him away into another.

The system effectively used the man as a human pinball while he was blasted around in the twisting chaos at an increasingly frenetic pace until none remained. He was sent hurtling into the ground.

Dante picked himself up, grabbing the discarded Yamato sheath.

The man used it to as an aid to stand up. His many tendons and sensitive muscles were cut open and severed.

Vergil taunted him, "Come now. Don't tell me that all these years of training left you without the might to defeat your opponent."

"You always speak in those fancy words. What happened to you, man? The Vergil I knew cared about people. He was kind and he never beat his chest." Dante said, indignation still on his side.

"I buried him in the floorboards of that apartment, along with Eva, that inferior concubine of yours, and the disgraceful unborn. You don't have the capacity to love something properly." He said, cruelly mocking Dante's ability to care for a child and deriding him for coming to love a human.

"Disgraceful?" He asked quietly. "You mean my kid . . . ? I-. . . I did . . . How would you know? You don't care about me; you want to control me! Like I'm just another tool at your disposal." Dante finished, his eyes filling in red.

Vergil, who had been walking slowly towards his sibling, angrily attacked him with his sibling's Devil Arm. The twin defended with Yamato, managing to grind against it with a guard after some of his wounds healed. Dante fell back onto his elbows.

Vergil stood still above him, ready to drive the sword into his chest.

"I'm going to say it just one more time. You. Need. Me." He put his hand forward, offering him help to stand.

"You are my brother, Dante. I love you, but you need guidance. These humans have . . . destroyed this paradise. The world was balanced when our kind ruled earth." He said. His brother's face became furious.

"'Our kind?' . . . Demons? I don't believe what I'm hearing. You committed a massacre because you want demons to take over again!-?" Dante said, horrified by his siblings actions. He saw Vergil's response of pride; he was pleased with his work and was eager to do more.

"You . . . you're not human anymore." He muttered.

Angered, he immediately retracted his hand and plunged Rebellion forward. The vexation renewed, the younger one deflected the stab with Yamato's scabbard, pushing it to the side as he skewered Vergil through the chest in instant retaliation.

His face was left stunned as the scarlet Cambion stood to his feet, pushing the curved edge all the way until the guard impacted his ribs. Dante then lurched back and welted his brother in the face so hard his feet lifted off the ground and was sent sailing onto wet grass.

Looking up, his hair now dirtied by mud, he tried in vain to stand. His opponent grabbed Rebellion and turned it up and towards him as he bolted across the field into a stinger.

In a maroon blur, Dante hit the handle of Vergil's sword exactly and sent him flying further, completely thrusting Yamato out through his back.

He screamed in pain; a small amount of blood spewed from his mouth and he tumbled hard when he landed.

Moving in and out of consciousness while trying to regain himself, he grabbed the helve of his katana. He rose up to his feet and walked for a small distance before his vision cleared up.

He saw Dante dragging his own sword through the mud too, the siblings exhausted together.

They lunged for one another again, Vergil managing to get a dark slit on the man's upper shin. The distraught combatant struck back at his brother's face, creating a deep incision on his countenance and preventing him from making a follow-up attack.

He staggered away and clutched his stinging wound.

The dark twin suddenly recognized the similarity between the cut and the one he gave his brother earlier on. He took his hand away to look at the blood on his palm as it poured from his laceration before scowling back to his remaining family member.

Enraged, he shouted, "You vindictive monkey!"

He lunged at Dante, attempting to entrap him within a Judgment Cut. Instead, he was forced to defend against a bullet. He sliced through it and followed with a few more two-handed strikes, all of which the slayer countered with a combo of his own.

As Vergil blocked a downward swing meant for his right shoulder, he drove Rebellion away and down with the katana and elbowed his younger brother in the jaw.

Dante stepped back; thick hemoglobin coated his teeth.

Vergil attempted to then slash his neck only for him to be blocked by his own sheath.

Dante then forced the blade back with all his strength as he readjusted his grip and swung Rebellion hard to the right.

The older sibling managed to defend his mid-section with his own hand, his wrist taking the full brunt of the sword attack.

It cleaved into his bone and tore through his muscles, grinding up against the joint.

The bloodied man fought through the pain and kicked his duplicate violently in his ribs, breaking the two apart as the Rebellion sliced through and severed his fist completely.

Dante teetered backwards, dropping his weapon and Yamato's case as he clutched his side.

Vergil fell on his back, his red stump held tightly.

He looked and saw his palm sinking into mud. He somehow leaped himself over and grabbed it immediately, washing it off in the rain. The man concentrated intensely, then shoved it on as he forced his joint and ligaments to physically regenerate themselves. This left a thick, visible strip of skin missing all around where it was removed.

Vergil looked up and was met with clenched knuckles at his pearly whites. An impact wave rung out as he slowly registered the attack and stumbled rearward. He caught himself from falling and received another blow to his left cheek. A circular surge of clear air was pushed out each time he was hit.

The man wobbled again as he was struck in the stomach by a strong knee. He felt oxygen leave his lungs while Dante removed his right leg from his abdomen.

The younger man then punched the right side of Vergil's face, leaving a fractured cheekbone as they both fell to the ground.

He crawled across the mud in the direction of his brother and began strangling his black-coated enemy while resting on his knees, looking down at him face-to-face as it contorted.

Vergil reacted instinctively, kicking Dante in his groin. The red hunter let out a pained bay. The older of the two immediately used the strength in his legs to push him off, forcing him to fall backwards onto his spine.

He got to his feet, choking and coughing. After recovering, the man looked at his sibling for a moment before stomping on his chest, loudly cracking numerous ribs.

The man began crushing his heel into his thorax, intent on splitting Dante's aorta open.

While screaming, the devil slayer suddenly grabbed his brother's boot. He forced it up off of himself, eventually shoving him backwards through a closed yell. Vergil immediately tried to regain his dominance over him but was met with a gunshot in the chest.

He stepped away, grasping at his chest.

Dante sat up and shot him in the back with Ivory.

He yowled.

As he continued to walk, turning around to stare his brother down, the man shot him again.

Dante continuously unloaded bullet after bullet into him until Vergil summoned Yamato and swirled it into a sonic, circular defense, catching the bullets. He laid them down on the ground and then launched them back at him with an upward swing.

They ricocheted out and blasted Dante in his shoulder and through his pancreas, where he reeled onto his back. Turning himself around so that his back faced the cool rain, he began desperately crawling over towards his broadsword.

A tired but relentless Vergil walked onward slowly, intent on finishing the battle.

He pulled closer and closer, nearing the handle. He came within inches of it but was suddenly stopped when the tip of Yamato was plunged through his right hand. An decipherable swear rung out into the darkness.

Vergil clasped the back of his head and lifted him by his hair, removing the sword and holding it aside. He got him on his feet, then turned him around and seized Dante's throat, suspending him off the ground.

"We could stop this. Right here, right now. I'll lay down my sword if you promise your loyalty to me." Vergil stated as he held his younger brother by his gullet.

"Heh heh, you just . . . proved my point, you see . . . You don't think of me as a brother anymore, I'm just . . . a tank . . . a loyal little soldier to do your bidding." He was asphyxiating and breathing heavily, the fight taking its toll on him.

Vergil made up his mind, "Well then, it seems your blood has been tainted by humans too much. I had hoped that when the time came, you would be up to par. Such foolishness." He said as he rammed the blade through the man's stomach.

The torture was extraordinarily agonizing. Tears welled up from the utter force of the saber impaling him.

Vergil sadistically twisted it, intent on making the troubled Cambion suffer.

He screamed in anguish, the nauseating smirk of his own kin reveling in watching his grief embroidering mutual detestation between them.

The man needed to get free of this at whatever cost.

Dante withdrew Ebony. He pulled the trigger.

A mere second later, he fell flat on the ground, the katana falling out of him and landing in the mud a foot away. He thought he missed and so looked to see what his brother was going to do next.

On the ground, lying still was Vergil.

Dante pulled himself over to his brother and saw a plain look of frozen shock on his face, a bullet hole carved through his forehead. The man's eyes seemed fluttering almost like he could still be alive. However, all of a sudden, they stopped and turned placid. It was disturbing, the once piercing gaze he held had become glassy and sterile.

The frightened slayer grabbed him and attempted to wake him, as if he wasn't dead. He kept speaking to him, calling his name but no response ever came.

Dante cradled the body in his arms and solemnly repeated a single phrase.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . ." He said, his tone hushed and remorseful. He continued to repeat the phrase over and over, clutching the torso of his fallen brethren.

As time passed, he continued to hold him, speaking the same expression infinitely. Eventually, the wind and lightning died down, but the rain stayed.

He began digging into the salted earth.

He worked and worked, wearing down his fingers and skin until he dug a hole big enough. He climbed out in spite of the water and laid there, exhausted.

He dragged himself up and returned his attention to his brother. He uncontrollably began tearing up. He'd lost everyone, though his father was already long gone by then.

He refused to be weak; he wouldn't cry, he told himself.

As the droplets became lost to the rain, he pulled himself back together, managing to regain a crummy calm that enabled him to focus somewhat. He picked up his brother's body, which remained tethered to earth thanks to his human lineage. He forced himself to drop him; it felt like letting go of a cherished dog, a happy, familiar face that had lost its light.

He finished up covering the hole. The storm took care of the rest. It washed away any remaining blood deep into the soil and made the ground indiscernible. It stopped pouring down soon after.

He walked and walked, hours and days, as his skin continually blistered open and bled, healing up and repeating this forever until he finally came back into civilization. He abandoned his stained, torn up coat, and walked into a bustling city.

Dante knew it well; it was near where he lived.

Walking down the sidewalk, he grabbed a black dress shirt from the top of a crate at the edge of an alley when no one was looking. He left it unbuttoned after he slipped it on. His mind wasn't really present.

His fingerless biker gloves were ripped apart and barely held themselves to his skin. They eventually fell away completely, left behind on the ground as unknown black strips of gunk that humans cautiously avoided as they traversed the pavement.

The steps up to the building were oddly cold even though the entire city was basking in the sun. The young adult walked underneath police tape as several investigators looked at him strangely. He had hidden his weapons with the snap of his fingers long ago.

Ultimately, he ran into a policeman who told him that he could travel no further.

Dante shoved him into the wall. He soon found himself having to beat off numerous other police officers that attempted to apprehend him. At one point he was cornered on a stairwell. As they ganged up on him and began beating him with their nightsticks, he broke out.

He pushed around several men who were bigger in size than him, as though they had no weight to their anatomy.

He brawled his way to the top, encountering a door that was covered in yellow ribbon. It stated in large bold letters that no one was to cross. He kicked the door in, and there she was.

Lying in a grotesque scene, her face looking strangely peaceful, eyes shut.

He walked forward to her body, which was surrounded by white tape. Before he could reach her, a hand propped itself on his chest stopping him from going further. He looked to see it was a tall middle-aged man with a dark fedora and an ash gray coat over a brown business suit without a tie. He had a gruff but kindly face, a gentle giant that had seen war. He spoke to him in an NYC accent.

"Stay back son, any disruptions could disturb the scene." He looked at the adolescent man and saw hopelessness in his eyes.

" . . . Did you know her?" He questioned, realizing Dante was staring only at the girls body. He reasoned he may have more to do with the case.

The man gave a single affirmative nod.

"We found she was with child. You have any idea about that?" The older man asked.

He gave another sullen bow of his head.

The elder gent looked him over. He was pale and physically fit, obviously shell shocked by what had happened in this dreadful, bloodied place. The dusky halls surrounded them.

Every single corpse cried out in silent terror.

Some of them had limbs torn off and others were left entirely unrecognizable. Most traumatic of all, underneath a tarp, crudely taken and cleaned up was the small body of an unborn girl, ripped from its womb before it could even form thoughts of its own.

"This . . . this is downright evil, but you . . . you know something about what happened, don't you?" The detective asked, he, himself, disturbed by the happenings on the scene. The youth he was speaking towards looked directly at him, his eyes an icy, disconnected blue.

Suddenly, out of breath policemen came through the knocked down door, their weapons drawn on him.

The investigator stepped in the way and barked orders to them.

"Hold your fire! This man may be a witness to these events." The man said, but the others were adamant.

"But sir! He beat his way through the quarantine and fought us all . . . somehow. That makes him a fucking suspect!" The burly man tried to explain through gritted teeth. Dante turned his scrutiny on them. Almost immediately, they flinched.

The detective spoke up, "Look, never mind them. You came _back_ here, is that right?"

He was met with further acknowledgement.

"Ok. We don't have much time until the feds get here and take this over, so why don't you and I take a drive down to the station, huh? Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell us a thing or two about what happened here?" The man inquired.

He saw the teenaged face was empty, having focused his emotionless attention at the dead fetus, as if he could see right through its cover without issue.

"That child was yours . . . ?" The man asked for confirmation to his line of thinking. Dante spoke for the first time since he killed his brother.

"Yes." He then motioned to the woman's body.

"Her name was Sarah Bryant." He coldly stated.

His voice was dark and indifferent. He had become gripped by apathy. Corroded and twisted by crushing sadness; his kind heart blackened by lonely wrath.

"Sarah Bryant, huh? She must be related to the other witness we found. It's amazing he was even alive in the state we found him in. You know a Jack Bryant?" The older fellow asked. By this point, he had grabbed a notepad and pencil from his coat pocket, taking down notes.

The teen seemed to corroborate his question, explaining, "Yeah. He was her older brother. He didn't like me much."

He was almost defiantly sarcastic in reference to him. This unnerved the detective.

"All right, lets go." He concluded as he took Dante with him to his standard Ford police car. As they walked through the building, the silver-haired man looked at the men and women in uniform with scarlet eyes of hatred, his presence becoming feared as they walked down the steps.

They walked past the officer's female partner. He didn't even look at her though he could sense several things about the pair.

The male detective he was with had been married to someone at some point but he'd been unhappy. There was barely enough there for him to notice as he'd been sleeping with this coworker for a while. At least between 6 months and a year. They were both smokers, though the female had a more chronic habit than her counterpart. She owned a dog, a Great Pyrenees. The puppy was two years old but fully grown and of a gentle temperament. It got along well with the male detective. All the better for their relationship.

"Who's this?" She asked.

"Don't know yet. I'm gonna take em' downtown and see if I can get a statement. You take control here and make sure they don't fumble any evidence till the fed gets here."

"You got it." The woman said as they all parted ways.

The car door opened up when this new, emotionless person went to sit inside the blazingly hot vehicle. The detective had lit a cigarette and was puffing it slowly, preferring to enjoy it while it lasted. He touched the steering wheel in the front and instantly recoiled.

"Ah! Fuckin' heat!" He muttered, thwarted in his attempts to leave quickly. His passenger looked at him as he nonchalantly began blasting the air conditioning.

"What's the rush for? Let it soak in." Dante said from the backseat. The man looked back at him through the cage.

"It's a hundred degrees out, I'm not suffering through this." He said as he began driving down the street, traffic moving out of the way when he put the siren to on.

The half-ling merely looked out of his window and pressed his hand against the sweltering glass. He heard his skin sizzle but the torture gave him odd relief.

The detective did not seem to notice.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

Vergil felt rushing air through his coat tails and remembered exactly everything that had happened. Outrage and feelings of betrayal nearly choked him. His own brother had shot him in the head, why? What had he done to him? If anything, Dante should have been thankful.

After all, he cut all their ties to humanity.

Yet he chose the memory of a deceased woman over his own flesh and blood. The stinging sense of erosion left him broke down and busted. The tides of hell had grasped at him and pulled him down to the pits.

He landed through the ceiling of a bleak, satanic church. The sky was blood red and his surroundings were murky and ever changing.

He remained here, taking solace inside the confines of this repugnant structure. Inside, the walls were barren, the land jagged and broken but at least he was alone.

After some time, a voice finally spoke to him.

"How interesting. We don't get much of your kind here." The sultry, feminine, unseen speaker stated.

These words were almost unholy to the ears.

A sudden flash of green fire burst in the middle of the room, appearing to Vergil as an attractive female with green hair.

"Ah, I knew it wouldn't be long. A demon come to torture me after my little reprieve inside this dark house of worship." The half-breed stepped forth, his feet ripping against the burning ground.

"Aye, its just my job. Please know it isn't personal, but I _will_ enjoy it." She said, almost appearing to take pity on him.

"No. I want it to be personal. I want to be ripped apart from the inside and stitched back together. Strangle me until I can't see. I want you to take sick enjoyment as you make me suffer." He said, an insane fire burning behind his eyes. She sensed the difference in him from the others.

"You want this? You actually want to be hurt? No demon or human ever wants what hell brings. You think that you can throw us off by willingly submitting yourself to the agony? Many have tried this, all have foolishly reneged." She said, having heard this same kind of want from various different others.

"I don't require any special cell to reside. Do it to me here. I want you to starve my humanity, quench my rage. You think I fear a devil such as yourself? I've faced thousands more than you, each one far more intimidating." His anger could be heard as the power of this ancient land filled him, his demonic biology reacting to its energies.

She glared at him for what felt like days.

"If its pain you want, then I shall bring you closer to home!" She finally shouted as she raised her arms and summoned her vast power. Sweeping gales blew through the building, ripping away at Vergil's skin and his clothes until he was naked. The wind physically molded the barbed floor into a smooth space.

"I am Morrigan, princess of this infernal wasteland. I promise you this, you will beg for mercy under my thumb as terror fills your soul, hybrid." She said as she swiped her hand in his direction and seemingly flayed off his remaining skin with the power of her mind.

He grunted in pain and she smirked at him only to become displeased when he looked back up at her with a demented, closed smile.

"I'm not even close to being done yet, worm." He said, his unwavering tone confusing her greatly. She continued to torture him, sending black tendrils through his exposed body and scratching away at the sinew that held him together. She raised him up off the ground and gouged out his eyes with a blink.

She then ripped various different pieces of muscle and cartilage away. The dark temptress tore open his skull with her bare hands and spat inside at his exposed brain.

A steamy smoke rippled off his cortex.

She summoned forth a dark spike and telekinetically threw him backwards onto it, impaling him through his upper spine.

She grinned widely as he seemed to be in horrid pain, but soon came into shock, followed by feeling what could only be described as a mixture of scorching hatred, lust, and scorn.

He somehow regenerated and began to become increasingly stronger, his skull closing on its own and his eyes growing back as he grabbed the spike and wrenched it out the front of his chest. His eyes grew blood red and he shattered the crystal in his hands. An aura surfaced around him.

"The flames of your hell? Couldn't even melt a marshmallow." He said as he motioned to her to continue. She frowned and carried on sadistically beating, scratching, nailing, flaying, burning, freezing, crushing, stabbing, bleeding, and even eating him at times, but he always revived and demanded more.

This cycle of endless violence and gruesome brutality continued for oblivion, until finally, the Scottish succubus tired.

"Why is it that after so long, you simply refuse to cry out? You confound me! No one has ever resisted the torment. Not even half-devils like you." She decried his incredible resilience, stridently refusing to believe in it.

"You dare stop now!-? I will not be denied power. I am a- no! **The** son of Sparda! I will not let you belittle me with mundane tortures!" He said, the blue aura intensifying as he spoke.

Her beautiful face crackled into pure fear. An heir of a legend was in her midst.

"You cretin, I'll show you what happens when you refuse to give me what I want! I'll give you these same gifts!" Vergil said as, with his fists clenched, he used the pain of the persecution to push himself farther than he could have ever gone on his own.

His skin turned a dark blue as it turned to scales and manifested an outer skin that morphed into a hanging coat. His fingernails turned into claws and the skin blackened on his feet and forearms. He gained silver, encrusted kneepads that were spiked upwards and seemed to fit perfectly between his leg joints.

He gained a dark grey, metallic and jagged helmet-like shielding that quickly spread down to his chest underneath his demonic jacket and appeared to take the form of an exposed, empty ribcage here. The head armor made his eyes glow blue as the flesh on his face darkened too.

From the back of the scaled coat grew a large hood that seemed to levitate itself up onto his head, naturally resting atop his skull.

Alongside this was black armor plating on his legs and thick scales to cover his exposed genitalia.

His eyes shining, the next thing to appear was a silver, smooth mouth guard that covered up to his nose. His nostrils became snake-like and the cartilage wasted away, flattening his face considerably.

The sleeves hugged his arms tightly as black, feathered wings sprouted from his back. His coat tails ended with an oval shape, similar to two drooping vampire teeth at the edges and curved up in the center.

The final things to appear was a thick, organic looking sheath attached to his arm and the trustworthy Yamato inside.

Morrigan could not believe the grace the form held, a truly demonic vessel for an evil mind truly worthy.

He looked upon her beautiful body with contempt, derision, and fervor.

Now that the roles were reversed, the dark one grabbed the hilt of his blade and pulled it out, its edge slightly tainted purple. He held it back behind his opposite shoulder and then released.

She shrieked demonically.

"I want you to know this is personal _and I will_ enjoy this."

It was then that her own torment began.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

* * *

So, I know what you may be thinking.

I'm going to cover more of Vergil's backstory at a later date as I'm still trying to figure out what exactly throws him over the edge. I also want to show more of Dante's history as well.

Also it sucks when theres two whole chapters of origin stories back to back.

It seems i may have caused some confusion here with Vergil. He let himself be tortured so he could channel that pain into his demonic powers so he could grow stronger and because this Vergil finds that he can unleash anger this way. After he gets what he wants from Morrigan, he fully becomes elevated into his true potential, so as far as this is concerned, you are witnessing Vergil's awakening.

I'm not trying to insinuate that he loves pain because, well, just because. Theres a reason he let himself become subjected to that. Also, he has an incredibly high tolerance for pain from fighting so much (you'll see why later on), so that helps out a lot.

Oh yeah, and by the way, Dante was neighbors with Sarah (who is a Virtua Fighter character, her and her brother are the last ones I promise), so, yeah i fudged it and had them know each other in this continuity i've created. The point was to have the timelines pre-existing together as one universe rather than have the continuities separated out and only coming together for the purpose of the series.

Thank you.


	14. The Usual

**-Between Cities-**

* * *

Dante drove for hours down the highway. He fought off the creeping dread that in some way, his departed sibling was involved with the events he was a witness to. Every time his brother was involved, something bad happened to him. It was a strange karmic twist, considering that Dante always tried to be nice and approachable.

As he continued down the open road, he saw the sun beginning to rise, so he pulled off the freeway and into a smaller town with buildings low to the ground. He observed ample amounts of human joggers, all being led by an enthusiastic woman.

'Whatever floats your boat' He thought to himself as he searched for a gas station.

He was excessively nervous about being confronted by anyone, preferring to stay incognito until he completed his mission.

So he tried to reassure himself, 'This'll be simple. I just pull up, fill the thing and then quickly leave. Stay silent and maybe something won't happen to you for once.'

As he found a Chevron, he pulled into its deserted lot but found it was open. He walked into its convenience store and grabbed a drink and some snacks. He walked to the counter and was met with an old Chinese man with white hair, though unlike the demon hunter, it was from age rather than biology. He wore a strangely formal outfit made of foreign silk that mixed white, red and green colors together. He had a semi long beard that was thick and appeared to make him infinitely wiser.

"You want to buy six candy bars, two bags of chips, three hot dogs to go, and a coke? You have friends with you?" the man curiously asked, his accent bleeding through into every syllable.

"No." He said, quietly wanting to avoid suspicion or trouble.

"Very well, that will be 24.51." He said. Dante nearly choked up.

"Wait, whoa, whoa! Twenty-Five dollars just for some food and a drink, that's a little much don't you think? How did the price even get up that high!-?" He said as he confronted the Asian man about his prices.

"No, okay!-? That is the price, you pay it!" The man said, becoming almost immediately angrier.

"Hey, calm down okay, I'm just trying to say-." He was cut off as the angry older man began ranting at him.

"You come in here and act superior, you pay for the food and gas, then leave! Okay?-! You take it further and I'll throw you out! Got it?" The man was intense, he was old but strong.

"All right, never mind then! Here's your damn twenty-five bucks." Dante said, preferring to refrain from starting conflict even though he technically brought it upon himself.

"You get your gas then go away!" He said, acting childishly belligerent for no apparent reason. He was very stereotypical in terms of Racist cliché's but he couldn't do anything about it, he was simply raised that way.

As Dante walked outside into the cool night air, he angrily filled up the car. 'If it isn't demons its jerky humans.' He thought to himself.

The tank began to near full capacity. As the computerized numbers flickered up into an increasingly large digit, Dante began to feel uneasy.

Almost as soon as it finished up, he saw blood splatter all over the window of the convenience store. And then another second later, a particularly muscular Brute crashed through the window, four others coming out with it.

"Getting real tired of this 'in public' thing, boys. Can you do me a favor and shimmy on over to an alleyway to fight each other? I'm trying to actually get somewhere." The man in black and red said, obviously disliking the approach these many demons had been taking.

They responded with roars and rushed towards him, intent on stopping him for some reason or another. He blasted forward, snapping his weapons back into reality as he charged forth and embedded the blade into the lead Brute's hand in between its ring and middle fingers.

With his left hand, he grabbed Ebony and fired into the right eye of a Brute on his left. Its head exploded and then it evaporated into thin air upon its defeat. He ducked when the Brute he was engaged with attempted to strong-arm him.

He tugged on Rebellion and dragged it deeper through the hand, creating a bloody divide. He used gravity to his advantage and managed to simultaneously remove his sword and dodge a second attack as he spun around in a split second and back-slashed the demons jaw, shearing it off completely and slicing another across its chest. He jumped up and flipped mid-air to evade a punch.

As he traveled, he wound up clearing the jawless demon altogether. However as he passed by, he pointed Ebony at the back of its skull and fired a shot. The demon disintegrated as the silver-haired slayer simultaneously missile dropkicked another Brute behind it.

It unexpectedly toppled over as he stomped his foot down on its neck and defended against a series of slashes from the remaining demons, rolling away when the Brute below him attempted to wreck his legs. He put Ebony away whilst mounting a vicious sword attack.

He ran forward and jumped again, however, this time he summoned a strange red platform with rune symbols on it behind him and used it as a flat surface push off from, greatly increasing his speed.

He stabbed Rebellion into the throat of the fourth Brute, forcing it back off its feet. As it did so, Dante repositioned his landing and managed to bring the monstrosity all the way onto its back, the thick of the blade becoming jammed further in.

As it struggled to get free, Dante used its body as a trampoline, stepping on its head and then torso to launch himself to the fifth Brute. He attacked, sans sword, with a violent fist to its neck, causing its airway to collapse completely.

Upon landing on his feet he machine gun punched its stomach. The choking demon felt its ribcage collapse in seconds as the empowered half-devil began punching it so hard that its back opened up and ejected bone fragments and chunks of meat rigorously.

All the while it scratched at its own throat in a vain attempt to breathe. After scraping off multiple slabs of its flesh, it finally regained the ability to breath but its underbelly and spine were exposed, Dante's fists a cerise color.

The creature fought to stand, as there was so little muscle left in its lower back that its body began to wobble back and forth. It managed to gain balance after a few ligaments regenerated and tried to attack with a bite but the supernatural bounty hunter reacted with a trickster move, dashing in a fast blur as he stopped its forward motion with the palm of his right hand on its forehead.

A vermillion shockwave echoed out as he dug his feet into the blacktop, warping and cracking around his boots.

As he kept it held in place for a short second, he plunged his other hand into its open mouth grabbed a hold of the big canine tooth and forcibly pulled, then outright ripped it out. He flipped the tooth in his hand to face down like a knife and used it to stab it square on the top of its crown, driving it in as far as he could.

Its eyes reeled back and Dante then performed a rightward roundhouse kick, shoving the demon to the side as it disintegrated.

He then felt a sharp pain down his back as the stabbed Brute struck downward with its claw, the sword still in its neck.

The man immediately twisted around and grabbed the hilt of the sword as he channeled his anger again.

He yanked the blade out, resulting in the demon staggering before it could land another blow as Dante continued and completed a 360 degree spin, his back facing the creature and Rebellion resting on his shoulder.

It attempted to attack his head, only to be shot through the hand by Ebony, the demon hunter not even looking as he pointed his gun.

"Even though he pissed me off, I feel bad that old guy had to die, no one deserves that." Dante said as he looked at the gruesome mess inside, not even paying attention to his remaining foes. As the fourth Brute backed up, clutching its hand in pain, the other remaining demon he had asphyxiated under his foot came at him full bore.

The man dashed whilst facing forward back into the bloodied demon and utilized his Air Trick, seemingly disappearing out of thin air and reappearing above the monster on its backbone. He chose not to swing and instead let the final Brute kill it when it turned to try to face Dante, believing it an obstacle in the heat of battle.

The bewildered demon was brutally ripped in half as the other one put all its concentration to going after the hybrid, carelessly shredding it with its claws and becoming drenched in blood.

It emerged through the red streams with inhuman intestines rapped around its jaw.

Dante had meanwhile pushed off the fourth Brute's spine and landed on solid ground, turning around as he met the final enemy with a batting swing. It fell right into his trap as he cleaved through its maw, severing the top of its skull from the rest of its body.

Blood flew everywhere as he then swung up completely straight, cutting the remainder of the head in half vertically when it landed.

The last one was squirming on the ground, attempting to crawl over towards its remaining pieces. It howled and screamed in pain as it left a trail of blood and entrails.

The slayer walked over and looked almost with sympathy, "I can't say I don't feel the tiniest bit sympathetic."

It growled and vomited black guts at his chest. Its head exploded a second later.

With a smoking gun in his hand, Dante said, "I don't feel _that_ bad for you."

Any gore that had splashed on him volatilized as the corpses vanished, leaving behind virtually nothing.

He looked around and saw that this time, they had dropped considerably larger orbs than before. Wondering why and how they even found him, considering that they could only find his location if someone around him like Roger was searching telepathically, he decided to hasten his journey to DOATEC.

But first,

"Now this is my kind of Christmas gift. Come to poppa." He said as he accepted the crystals and felt a surge of power flow through him. These orbs were much more powerful than the other ones he had absorbed from the same people.

"And the pumps didn't even blow up this time."

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

The group walked along a corporate hallway while being escorted into the upper floors by Kokoro. Though Niki tried to discreetly handle their entrance as she worked frequently with the company as a freelancer, it became a rather big mess when Akira sparked an argument that led to security being called.

Eventually, a big enough commotion occurred, the up-and-coming worker was alerted via an intercom on her desk by Helena, who wished not to trifle with such matters.

They walked into an elevator and the sizable batch stood awkwardly close to one another while cheesy soft rock music played. There was silence as Akira became uncomfortably pushed up against Kasumi thanks to a negligent Zack deciding to stand next to Ryu, Tina, Niki and Kokoro at the last minute.

The dangerous Kunoichi blushed, her body being pushed up against the glass wall when the room became too crowded. She felt his marble-like muscles and her reddened face became further flushed.

When doors finally opened, the silent passengers stepped out and Zack struck up a one-sided conversation whilst Akira brushed off his coat and stepped away from her. She tightened her armor fastening and maintained decorum.

After the others had cleared the area, it was clear that the floor was meant for executives as people relaxing in suits looked at the strange visitors with confusion. The two stepped off the lift as the doors closed behind them and moved to a new destination. The floor was expansive and open, with four white pillars holding up the high ceiling. The distance was unfathomable between it and the floor.

Railings were painted with gold and the carpet looked divine, with striking tapestries hanging all over the walls, many of them historic relics as well as a blown up portrait of an older man on the gigantic wall towards the adjacent side of the building.

The wall itself was not full, instead giving a large portion of further levels and offices that were sheltered behind it a shade. Underneath the painting itself was also a massive gold plaque that read a peculiar name: Fame Douglas, C.E.O.

"This place looks like it was meant for a king." Akira said as he observed the 'courtyard' below. It was effectively a second ground floor for the fraction of employees that managed to become transferred up here. There was a sprawling water fountain with maintained fish and plants and trees that surrounded it.

Bustling people of many genders, sizes, races and countries all walked around. Intent on catching staff meetings or returning to their offices to work on accounts, management, and paperwork, they hurried with coffee and files clasped as tightly as possible. These workers entered from automatic sliding doors that enabled them to enter from a private parking lot nearby which was attached via a concrete bridge.

The flooring down there was dark, making it a murkier sight than the lighter visuals found upstairs. The many escalators were packed with people traveling to different floors and it wasn't any wonder why Kokoro had to give her badge and fingerprint to take the elevator up here.

Many floors above were connected by strong concrete walkways and there also and aqueduct that poured water into the pool fountain to refill it in a steady stream. The architecture was Roman and excessive, bringing to mind an exotic ruler was in charge here. The use of greenery and pilasters leant credence to this observation and it felt more like an expensive hotel rather than a corporate office headquarters.

Before going to catch up with the others, Akira spoke to Kasumi about something.

"Hey, back in the elevator, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave you cramped like that." He said, wanting to clear the air about such an awkward moment.

"Apologizing? That's new. It's fine." She said, wanting to drop it as fast as she could.

"Yeah it's just . . . I really don't want to screw things up." The fighter said. As he spoke he felt a sudden weakness in his right knee and struggled to stay up as the same painful feeling from earlier came over him. This time, he felt much worse. He began coughing a little as well.

"What are you talking about? Are you okay there?" Kasumi asked, wondering why he was acting weird to her and why he suddenly looked weaker in his knees.

"I'm- _*cough*_ I'm all right. Just swallowed some dust." He said as he quickly stood himself up and appeared to return to normal.

She looked at his face, concerned, but decided that he was fine after a second or two.

"If you say so. Look, they went that way. It would be unwise to get separated in a place like this." The young ninja said as she walked off to catch up with the group.

Akira agreed and reluctantly nodded his head. When she turned to walk after the group, he quickly lost his look of strength. Unlike previously, his energy did not return as quickly. He had put on a confident front for her because he felt that she shouldn't see an ally in a weakened condition, lest her morale become tainted.

Why did he care so much? Its not like she mattered to him, did she? He was a warrior that walked alone. Reaffirming himself of his solo attitude and regaining his steadiness and the temporary weakness finally departing, he walked forth to rejoin the others.

* * *

 **-Elsewhere-**

* * *

While Dante was driving down the freeway, he came to a point where the walls on each side finally opened up to him. And there he saw it, the big apple. Bustling cars driving everywhere, a scenic view of the Atlantic where crashing waves were rolling against the eroded coast line. Sparkling water from the sea was darkened by murky clouds above, a storm was rolling in. Just perfect.

He sat munching on a candy bar, observing the clashes between the clouds and the clear blue sky that was still gloomy thanks to the sun rising up.

The visuals calmed him as he sowed up a cut in his jacket. He had learned to improvise quite well due to the nature of his fights. He always made it a point to repair his clothes so as to appear normal.

As he patched up his clothes, it could be seen that he did so with an almost expert level of skill, having nit things back together literally exactly as it was. The immaculate condition of his clothing was important to him, he found it psychologically comforting to have a stylish appearance.

Looking over, he was so distracted by what he next saw that he actually nearly crashed the car. He saw the DOATEC HQ building just a few kilometers away in the distance. Success was in his reach.

* * *

 **-Some Place Else-**

* * *

A man sat at a desk. The room was darkly lit, wood panels lined its walls as electronic candles adorned black metal hooks that were mounted on. The regality of the office was nothing special. The entire building was meant to look this way. After all, who was to stop him from this choice? He was the leader of Alexandria.

Rig was wearing a black hooded vest with grey cargo pants and plain simple shoes. He had added an additional undershirt that gave a rather different look to his standardized outfit, giving him a green shirt with a skull seemed to create a unique effect for him as he mulled over the state of affairs.

Anger surrounded him in this dark atmosphere as he talked to a familiar femme fatale in front of him.

"Well, here you are. Another stunning failure come back to haunt us all. So you let him get away and then, on top of that you couldn't find any useful information. Is that it or should i list the other parts of this story too?" The man mocked her for her actions.

"To be fair, he seems to still be on his way to complete the job. It just won't be as fatal as you and I would like." She replied.

"Ah yes, that tracker. At least you did that. Do you think he even realizes that his movements are being watched? Perhaps we can salvage this in the end. I'm sending in the clones."

"What!-? But the UN have officially declared that sending clones will be war. You can't seriously be that stupid." She said.

"Hm. Watch your tone. The clones I'm going to use are a little bit different than the ones you're thinking of. This batch is a lot more docile than those. I need spies. Besides, i'm thinking that since you oh so desperately wanted him involved, you can lead them in the field this time." He said.

"Hey, I'll kill anyone you need me too. I'll even sleep with anyone you want seduced to our side, even you. But I won't, I repeat, won't be leading those haywire cretins into American territory so you can stamp out a minor threat!" She was adamantly arguing against his attempts to punish her.

"A bit of that sultry Brit-pride coming out in you? I get it, you feel above such tomfoolery. You work for me and I'm saying its time we act. It's been a while since we went dark. Makes me think they're all starting to forget why MIST is feared in the first place." He remembered for a brief moment when he and his father were planning together the destruction of their enemies. He couldn't explain why, he just felt connected to Donovan in a way he could never be with anyone else, let alone Christie, though she's tried.

"You'll lead the attack. You will kill them both and then take care of that Dante you're so fond of. It would be easier to distract him than to take him down directly. Then we will make an example out of the all-powerful UN. Understood?"

"Clear as a spring." She said. Her British terms always confused him as he looked to her with simple disregard.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

Afrit remained locked inside the Grand Canyon, trapped here by Vergil as the only area where he could be kept out of human sight. It was basically a giant playpen for the beast as he commanded Morrigan to craft a magical illusion. Her abilities blotted it out of sight and sound as they then left and returned to the skyscraper rooftop.

"Ha, I feel satisfied about how that night went down. What about you my prince? What did you think about my work?" The twisted beauty spoke as they touched down on the ground.

"Your labor was exceptional. Unfortunately, it doesn't make a bit of difference. Dante must become stronger. I wonder how I can aid him along. I've thrown enemies at him with more power than I know he's used to but he doesn't seem to be making any progress." He said as he toiled away thinking to himself.

"Isn't the plan . . . to gain power for you?" A recognizable voice uttered.

"Yes, but it can only work if he possesses similar strength. The ritual calls for two equally powerful halflings, among other things, such as human souls." Vergil said.

Thrergon hobbled forth from a shadowy portal as it conversed with its two masters.

"You have become . . . an undoubtedly powerful demon lord. But, the fact remains . . . You are more powerful than any human on Earth. Perhaps we can forgo the ritual in favor . . . of killing him off and moving . . . to rule." The shakily speaking demon said.

"Yes. Perhaps this worm is right. I do long for some human amusement. We have the strength in numbers to do it. Oh the fables they'd tell . . ." She trailed off.

"Ruling this place holds no interest for me." His comment caused visible shock in both of them.

"What!-?" Both said at the same time.

This was going over well.

"What do you mean? This realm was meant to be ruled. These miserable husks couldn't even govern a garden without destroying it." Morrigan scolded him at the same time as she praised their strength.

"What . . . about this world . . . does not appeal to you?" Thrergon asked, intending to gain an explanation rather than to admonish Vergil for his choice. In this way, it was actually smarter than its compatriots.

"Hmph, suffering a bout of intelligence?" Morrigan derided the monster's comprehension.

Vergil made a motion with his hand that seemed to stifle her, restraining her vocal patterns as she made a contorted gesture.

"Such a trifling world. War binds the numerous constituents who abide by politics. So many corrupted souls wander the scarred continents. What's the point of ruling something so banal? What I seek takes me beyond this trite mortal coil." He said, a glimmer of spite behind his cold eyes.

He released his hold on her. She voiced a deep resentment.

"If this world isn't good enough for you, what would you do?" The succubus questioned.

Vergil gave a slight smirk as he explained.

"My desire lies in the lands of my lineage."

* * *

 **-New York-**

* * *

Dante drove into the parking lot and saw several cars that appeared ripped apart and smashed as a crowd of people had gathered and begun to discuss what was going on as well as observe incoming road crew to pick up the scraps.

"Now I definitely know I'm in the right place." He said when he parked and got out to walk over to the door. He entered the building and viewed a fancy lobby that almost looked like it was meant for a five-star hotel. Gold colors, roman architecture, marble statues of gods, water fountains and ornate tapestries hung on the wall instead of a museum; all the signs were here.

He both felt and looked entirely out of place with the other people in fancy business suits. He went up to the receptionist.

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm here to see Helena Douglas." He said.

Looking him over, the woman laughed.

"Not dressed like that you are. This is a corporation. Ms. Douglas is in a meeting right now. You'll have to schedule an appointment for another day, sir." She said rather flippantly and rude.

"Um, please?" He said, outright mocking her with a sense of futility.

"With an attitude like that, never." She said.

He looked around the room to see security cameras trained on him as well as security guards leering menacingly.

"What if I was to tell you that i had applied for a job and that 'Ms. Douglas' was expecting me for an interview?" He said.

The receptionist scoffed at this notion. "Oh please. What infantile person thinks the C.E.O. handles interviews?"

"What can I say? I guess that phone call I had with her was imaginary." He said in an attempt to throw her off.

"Really? What department did she want you to come work in?" She asked skeptically. He knew she wanted to see him squirm but a person like Dante never let that happen.

He observed other parts of the environment and began creating ideas in his head.

"She called me in to work catering and labor. I own Romero's." He said, having grafted this information from a business card scattered on a different receptionist's desk.

Her face fell a little more serious, "You're . . . for the gala?" Cynicism remained.

"Do me a favor. Call up her assistant I spoke with and tell her that the meeting planner is here. I need to discuss some logistics with Ms. Douglas." He said, fully bluffing both the gender of her subordinate and the timing. The woman still had a large degree of doubt.

"What's the assistant's name?" She asked. Now was as good a time as any to stop improvising but Dante needed to talk with Helena, knowing that he needed answers quickly.

Calming himself, he silently looked over anything on the desks he could, do so with such speed that he appeared to not even blink to her. The man managed to find a small list of tasks scribbled down on a yellow notepad. At the top was a name.

'Brain, don't fail me now.' He thought  
"Kokoro." He said.

The woman's face went several shades paler. She immediately tried to resume her cool. Looking at him was agony. The dead seriousness on his face made her squeamish when importance was attached.

Satisfaction peeled across his pupils.

Stammering in her speech, she choked to him while attempting to perform damage control. She instead turned to the phone and called the desk of Kokoro.

Time froze for minutes on end as she felt his piercing gaze alienate her. The dark-haired secretary finally picked up.

"What is it? I'm in the middle of speaking with guests." She said.

"Uh, ahem . . . Miss, the Gala caterer and meeting planner is here to see you." The woman croaked.

Kokoro looked at her calendar and saw that this person was not meant to have a meeting until a couple days later. Thinking nothing of it, however, she calmly spoke into the phone.

"Oh, send him up." She said as she hung up her office phone and continued speaking with the others.

Back on the bottom floor, the woman smiled in a barely contained self-hatred.

"S-so! Sir, i will get you an executive visitor's pass and you'll be all set." Whining as she said these words, her foot planted firmly into her mouth.

"I weep for the future." Dante stated when he received his keycard and left a mortified employee standing in pure shock.

Walking into the elaborate, gold plated and reflective elevator, he pushed a button and began his ascent up the proverbial corporate ladder.

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

Don't really know what was going through my half-awake skull when i posted the original version of this early this morning.

Entire story is currently undergoing revision.


	15. Story Manifest: Notes

**...** **  
...**

Okay. So this is a collection of all the notes and thoughts i've left on each chapter (save chapter one's intro), all categorized in order.  
Think of this as 'the epilogue-in-progress' for the remainder of this series. It's gonna be a placeholder for the old chapter 15, since it's _all_ the author's notes.

I hope this will streamline things.

Also, note that some of these specific notes may be left over in their original chapter placements due to their explanation of key aspects that casual reader's might otherwise neglect.

Not that anyone reads them anyway, **it's an optional read.**

 **.** **...  
** **...** **...**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

* * *

Update!

You may have noticed two things.

A:Dante does not possess any of his familiar companions.

B:Dante's pretty interested in having sex with Christie. Almost a bit too eager.

Okay, heres the thing about A. I wanted a fresh start right? I didn't have a way nor did i have anything for some of Dante's familiars to actually do while in the initial stages of this fic.  
Also, i really wanted my own interpretation not tied down by the continuity of familiar dmc lore.  
While there will be similarities and familiar characters introduced later on, i feel characters such as Trish Lady don't really belong in this story right now. Hence their absence.

Numbah B: I originally characterized Dante poorly, writing him as sex obsessed in this one chapter. It also too strongly implied that he could be easily manipulated, an approach i actually wanted originally in order to throw off readers when it turn's out he knew of her agenda the entire time. But i had problems with the execution, so i just basically added everything i didn't say originally that made it clear what was on his mind.

I'm hoping in the future i can actually add to this base chapter, or the next, another section concerning backstory and foreshadowing on other characters later on, but for now, minor dialogue changes will suffice.

 **...  
** **Secondary Chapter 1 Update/Note  
** **...**

 **Conclusion:**

 **Another Update:** Someone recently messaged me asking what this series opening theme would be if it were an anime.I'd choose **Servitude** , by **Fishbone** in case anyone is interested.  
It would be too long, but it's just got this badass riff. I love it.

Although i suppose i'd also choose **Goin' Down**. It's the only **Godsmack** song i can say i really like. **Darkness Within** by **Machine Head** is pretty fitting of the fight between Vergil and Dante too.

The question got me thinking to ask you, what are some songs you guys think fit to this story as a whole?

I changed the title again, mostly because i'd long felt that the Devil Is Alive was a generic, boring little title.I haven't seen any stories with similar names as this new one so i think we're good.

Gosh i'm dumb. Damon Black has a series called Kunoichi Like Us. Huh, You know what? I'm not changing it is named after a quote you can look up on your own time . . . grar!

...  
Angry morning rant  
...

I want you all to know my fury at this site. While it's a host for a great many creative, high-quality works and would never do anything to change that . . .

FUCK THIS ARCHAIC SYSTEM OF BULLSHITTERY  
I JUST GET DONE PUBLISHING A FUCKING FUTURE EPILOGUE TO KEEP TRACK OF CHAPTER NOTES AND THIS STUPID FUCKING SYSTEM GLITCHES ON ME AND FUCKING COMPRESSES EVERY COCKSUCKING WORD TOGETHER SO THAT ITS ALL FUCKING CLIPPED INTO ITSELF AND MISSING WORDS

THIS IS 2017 YOU DUMB _**MOTHERFUCKERS THIS KIND OF IDIOCY IS UNACCEPTABLE**_

HOW FUCKING UNPROFESSIONAL IS THIS CRAP THAT YOU CAN'T PUT A FUCKING FILTER FOR SLASH, YOU CAN'T ALLOW POEMS OR LYRIC-BASED STORIES,  
AND YOU HAVE A LIMP WRISTED SPELLCHECK THAT COULDN'T HELP A FUCKING MONKEY TYPE OUT HIS THOUGHTS ON GLOBAL THERMONUCLEAR WAR

 _ **WHAT**_

 _ **THE**_

 _ **FUCK**_

...  
End rant

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

* * *

 _I'm revising everything._

 **Update:** So this beginning part of the chapter is new. Take it for what it is, i felt this needed a bit more oomph than it did originally, just starting out with Helena being moody.

 **...  
** **Secondary Chapter 2 Update/Notes  
** **...**

 **Update:** Wow, these notes were a bit outdated

Yeah, yeah, to be continued, whatever. Just wanted to say that Dante is not an anemic, emaciated teen like he looks in DmC. My version looks like the DMC 1 Dante, only a little bit thicker and his hair from the second game. Also, my version is older, a lot older, he's more mature and hardened. He knows whats right and what's wrong.

Good grief i was an ass.

Also Ayane is wearing her NG3 gear and Hayate is wearing his fourth costume from DOA5 here.

The scene at the beginning is a new insert. There isn't really much to say about it, it's something cool that plays into a plot point  
planned for way down the line. It was fun to write so i hope it reads well. I mentioned before that i wanted it to be in chapter 1. This is true. But, it's in this chapter because i never really felt this one was very strong.

As you can probably tell, the guy that walks out of the doors is Vergil. Picture him as having the exact same coat as his dmc 3 incarnation, but a darker blue. His hair's the same, but the clothes underneath the jacket are different.

I also changed the nature of Ryu's scenes a bit. I didn't want it to seem so out of character for him. He's suffering from a disease that one of it's symptoms is madness. An interesting angle i explored rather poorly, it was really just a way to get the guy into a different situation.

I am working to slowly turn this series around into what i intended it to be, rather than what it became,  
so expect some continuity to be streamlined in the future.

Anyway, hopefully the new scene might help break up the monotony as well so let me know what ya think.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

* * *

 **Update!**

So, another little update here. This is the fourth part of my little update series (the first one was fixing up Devil Clash),  
just smoothing out continuity errors and mistakes.

Welcome all those who are new or are trying this series out, i recommend stopping at this chapter until the rest are updated because of the incongruities these updates might cause. I'm real appreciative of the feedback on the music idea. A lot of you guys suggested bands like Megadeth and Pantera, both in the reviews and PMs. Super cool to hear back about it.

I might make a Spotify playlist for it eventually if we get a list going, like a song for specific scenes in order.

Anyways, gonna cut it short, the rest of the notes are at the bottom.

Enjoy.

* * *

 **Original Notes**

So i changed this a lot from its original form. I looked back and felt kind of stupid for posting it in such a state. So many errors in spelling, grammar and so on. But what really struck me was that the paragraphs were so blocky. I don't remember them being like that!

Anyways, reviews are appreciated.

 **End**

* * *

 **...  
** **Secondary Chapter 3 Update/Note  
** **...**

 **Update Cont. :** So yeah, a playlist might be cool if enough people started suggesting specific songs for certain scenes.

So, in the original version of this chapter, Dante was a bit of a jerk, really emotionally dead. It came across like he just didn't care about others around him.  
While i want that part of his personality to remain intact (we all have our dark side), i lightened him up a bit.

To do this, i re-watched the anime because it's easier than hooking my PS2 back up to play the original games  
(to be fair, i own the collection but even then my PS3 also isn't hooked up right now either; we just moved). I have to say, I don't like some of the animation and their's a few weak stylistic choices.

Not quite as perfect as i remember it being.

There's also several things that don't translate well between the anime and the games, in spite of the fact that they're supposed to be set in the same timeline/universe.  
Little things like that bug the fuck out of me.

Anyway's i refocused the prose because it was all over the place. I'm really starting to realize that this series needs a simple style because of the noir elements. A lot of the opening chapter is pretty hardboiled, i just need to make sure i never fall into stock territory, with things like 'the dame had it comin. Too soon, too sad,' or 'Him? He met a rather unpleasant end . . . the end of a shotgun barrel.'

Though now that i think of it, that would pretty fitting of the anime's style.

Anyway, rant aside, i tried to envision Reuben Langdon's deeper, more reserved voice, from the anime, the entire time and will apply this to all of Dante's future dialogue, similar to Vergil with Mr. Southworth.

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

* * *

So, some things to note.

Kasumi is wearing her NG3: Razor's Edge attire, Ryu's boots are taken from a beginner's set in NG3's online mode, and this was written before i'd come up with a few concepts later on.

I'm so happy that i got to update this because of all the continuity problems. It was just a mess.  
Here, i tightened things up, one of the worst things about the old version was the persistent overuse of names in place of pronoun's and a lack of apostrophe's.  
It was a good reminder of what I usually point out as a flaw in a review. Thankfully, the problems have been remedied for the most part.

I'd appreciate feedback. How do you think the updates affect your understanding? What do you think needs improving upon? Generic shit like that.

Anyway, that's it for updates right now.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

* * *

 **Update!:** Round six of the updates. We're getting there guys. This was an important milestone in this story's history.  
I'd been experimenting with different themes and styles before-hand and this was the first time i developed a dark style of presenting fight scenes.

Before this, things tended to be very plain and generic, there wasn't alot of effort put into the details. I remember feeling so proud of myself with this, it got a good reception at the time as well.  
However, as with all things i write, when i went to reread this later, it fell short of my ideals. Nevertheless, it should be noted as still being an incredibly important chapter.

At this point, i only had an ending in mind and was just writing chapter to chapter. In short, i had no fucking clue what i was doing.  
Also, i tried out a hyper-violent style or descriptions because it was something that had fascinated me. I'm a big fan of gothic works, like 1800's poetry and short horror stories.  
These other genres and mediums helped inform me on how to write a fight scene. To describe what was happening as graphically as possible.

 **...  
Side-Rant  
** **...**

Additionally, i just played marvel vs capcom infinite. May i just say how limited this fucking game is. What kind of shit is this 'feature rich' bull?  
There's a story mode, and that's about it. Everything else is boring shit rehashed from the older games. Christ, what's with the damn art-style?  
I long for the days of UMVC3. Yeah, i just said that, it's better than this garbage. The plot is absolutely retarded as well.

What the fuck is Ryu doing as a part of a RESEARCH mission?  
Oh yeah, i'm fucking sure he could have helped along with that by punching the data into a recognizable state.  
Maybe he could have used his hadouken to 'tidy up the workplace.'

Betrayal! You don't put these characters in situations they just physically can't be in! Thanos was one of the best parts.  
Stealing the satsui no hado is actually a fairly clever integration of marvel tech with capcom mysticism and the use of it at the **DEAD-FUCKING-END LAST SCENE** is at least somewhat entertaining,  
if only for the novelty factor.

The solitary thing i can say this game gets right is it treats Dante with respect.  
Nolan North as Rocket Raccoon is also a pretty good thing, but the lack of Deadpool just fucking blows.

Dante actually does stuff on his own and takes care of business.  
He even outsmarts the piss-poor bad guy on his own, something _**literally everyone else fails to do**_

Oh yeah, and that fucking bad guy.

Can i say this is the least creative story mode i've ever played? Cause this is the worst fucking one. Oh my god, i have had it with fucking Ultron.  
 _Why_ is Sigma even a vicious threat? He's so cartoony that having him merge with someone as played out as Ultron is just boring. There's nothing clever about this, it's lazy.  
Far it be it from me, i fucking love Mega Man, but Sigma as the primary Capcom villain is just . . . UGH, why not Mundus? Or literally ANYTHING ELSE?  
There's an entire library of games with awesome villains that literally would fit the bill apart from Sigma. What about Dormammu for Marvel?

He literally got fucked over in the Strange movie, why not make him part of the true villains?  
Why is he weakened by the convergence of universes?  
Why is the Sigma virus a thing?  
Where did it come from!-?  
Who the fuck created it and where the fuck is Hank Pym?  
Why does Tony Stark sound just like Robert Downey Jr. but the directors went to no further effort to cast sound-a-likes for any of the other characters?  
Why do the other marvel character's look _nothing_ like their film counterparts if they went to the trouble with Iron Man?  
Why is Thor such a fucking Cuck?  
Why does everyone look like they share needles with Chris Redfield now?  
Why does literally everyone know each other already, even characters that logically just shouldn't?  
Why does Dante give his guns to Rocket Raccoon!-?  
Why THE FUCK is Gamora a character instead of Starlord or Scarlet Witch!-?  
What happened to the fucking X-men!-?  
Where would Jedah even come to get his hands on the symbiote, and even then, why does he grow it to immense size and claim to be working to fix things when HE'S behind _**the entire thing!-?**_  
How does Death even gain any power by merging the Universes!-?  
 _ **WHERE ARE ANY OF THE OTHER CHARACTERS FANS WANTED THAT WERE IN THE PREVIOUS GAMES!-?  
WHERE IS HANK PYM!?**_

 **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA** **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA** **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA** **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA** **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA**

.

.

.

.

.

Ahem. I'm fine now.

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

* * *

 **Update!**

So, it's been a while since i looked at this. Originally, I had plans for Kage-Maru. He would show up later and bla-bla-bla, he's not even a guest character.  
It came down to a logical choice, 1) Do i keep this? or 2) Should i dump this?

I chose the latter. Behold, in the place of a lame cameo that went nowhere, i give you a Rachel appearance!  
People had asked me behind the scenes to add her as she is a fan-favorite Ninja Gaiden character and I admit i want her involved just a tiny bit.

So here's what's going to happen!

I'm going to be adding scenes concerning Rachel in the near future, then i'll be fully reintroducing her in chapter 20.  
When she's all good and worked in, i'll start work on developing a prominent role for her.  
I know that when all is said and done, people would probably prefer this over some lame Ryu knock-off that didn't make sense to people who don't play Virtua Fighter.

Which i'm sorry for the overt inclusion of, by the way.

Anyways, we are getting there guys, most of the updates really only had to do with the early chapters, which were quite different from the later ones.  
While it's surprising to see my style change, i can't help but correct a lot of problems and mistakes i made.  
It's quite interesting to see where I was and who I was a literal year ago when i wrote chapters 1-6. Really wild. Dare I say far out? I've been watching the Brady Bunch: be gentle.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

* * *

Okay! I considered deleting this, mainly because it pissed me off that this chapter, while important to Ryu's backstory, was so awful.

I mean, i'm shocked and disappointed over how bad this was.

It felt rushed, like i wrote it on the fly.

The sad thing is, it's an important milestone as well. Much like the previous chapter, this was first time i really tinkered around with the idea of a super-powered battle.

The physics are a bit wonky, and people use their actual powers rather than having it play out like a fight in the game. It was supposed to the biggest, best thing up till that point.  
Sadly, i feel like i underwhelmed you guys. It's got no punch, no sense of danger. A bit like the new Justice League movie, but more disappointing.  
Yeah, you heard me, good movie. Not great, but good.

So the point of this little afterthought is basically, another reboot! AAAGGH

Yeah i changed the scenes dramatically, i altered the prose, i removed bits and pieces. I really frankenstein'ed this one back to life.  
When put against my later work, it's bothersome, so i did my best to give it a boost.

...

In conclusion:

Thank you for reading. Like always, reviews are appreciated.

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

* * *

...  
 **Note: Beginning of the 'Under-Construction Era'**  
...

 **Update:** I look back on this chapter with mixed feelings.

At the time, it got savaged in the reviews and i thought it was over what happened in the story.I realize now, that it was _how_ i did it, not _what_ i did.  
The prose was shit and made little to no sense, the fight was handled poorly, and a lot of people wound up thinking i hated Dante.

This is not the case, i'm a bigger fan of dmc than i am NG.

No, the real problem was i wasn't a very good writer. I was flawed and didn't see it.  
At the time, I hadn't taken an english class for a long while and had thought my abilities were bar-none.  
Then, something happened between then and now. I went back to college. And i got over myself.

If you notice, i made a lot of alterations to this chapter.

The entire rest of the series is going to receive this same treatment. Note that this **_DOES_** mean that there will be cumulative continuity changes.  
Minor things, like the names of techniques, descriptions, character backgrounds and dialogue will be refined, while major events, such as this chapter,  
will remain more or less the same but will become streamlined/cleared up/improved etc.

I let you guys down. I'm sorry. I have a lot to fix.

 **.**

 **.**

 **.**

Wow! This one is long.

Have no fear, Dante will return. He's in the friggin art i used so its not like i wanted to kill him off.

The Ryu of this story is mega-strong. I beefed him up a few chapters ago with that whole 'art of the true-wielder' schlock.  
Also, another reason for the delay was due to the school semester ending and my life taking a fucking dump when i didn't really do so fucking well.

Needless to say, I'm a little bit bitter.

Anyway, I have a job now so things will stay a little irregular for a little while, till i get my priorities straight. I will try and keep writing as much as i can for anyone who cares to read.

Also, I implore you to write me with questions about the series, if you have any.

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

* * *

I would like to clarify that Akira is not a true main character, I am using him for a specific purpose but he will never upstage any DMC character.  
He's featured in all iterations of Dead or Alive 5 so technically, here, he is really a part of the DOA line-up, as are several other characters used.

Also, i would like to explain that Dante's mother only looks like the reboot version for aesthetic reasons.

She is unreservedly, without a doubt, human

When this was first posted, it wasn't the greatest shape. I should have taken more time to work on the explanations and backstory before uploading.  
I take complete blame for this, as the result was a simplistic mess. For the most part, it didn't even depict what I was trying to go for.

I guess that's it for now, reviews are appreciated.

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

* * *

All right! So it's different this time. This chapter was just to show that, A. Dante is alive, and B. that he still experiences bad luck.  
I put him through the ringer but they say whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, right?

I decided to also end with something other than 'To be continued.' It's overwrought and by now, a verbally morose phrase that just shouldn't be used so much.

And i think i've ended _every_ _single chapter_ that way _._

Oh, and finally, Dante is unawakened, hence the description of Rebellion in an earlier chapter as being in it's unawakened state from the first half of DMC3. I should have probably explained that further, but you all probably got it by now since when Dante went 'full power' he didn't really activate his devil trigger mode.

Have faith, Vergil will appear. And i'll get around to those minor additions sometime, but they won't be used to eclipse anyone of the mains.

...  
Secondary Notes  
...

God i'm a fucking idiot.

I hate myself to the core sometimes. How fucking arrogant am I to have presumed that this was in anyway great when i first published it?  
What the fuck is wrong with me, half the sentences didn't even make sense. Christ. The last thing i want to do is make something so verbose that even I couldn't read it without getting annoyed.

I'm sorry guys.

* * *

 **Chapter 11**

* * *

Alright. So this one was about Dante's recovery and his quest to find out information. Ryu hasn't appeared much, probably for the better right now.

Also, yes Vergil finally appeared.

I want this series to be long, so i wanted Vergil's appearance to be delayed, it didn't have to be immediate.

Its hard trying to merge two continuities, especially ones with so many installments as dmc and doa.

So i originally had a hard time settling on who the villain should be, but i think most everyone agrees that the primary threat should be Vergil.  
He is everything Dante is and isn't, dark, angry and cynical. He prefers accuracy over brute strength, yet he has the steel to back up that haughty style of speech.

As i've said before, this is currently an incomplete story.  
I want to build this Dante from the ground up, not have just a copy paste version from the established continuity, no matter how much i love the original.  
So for all intents and purposes, this series is not primarily based on anything familiar.

Thats probably why many fans aren't so comfortable with a lot of the things that have happened early on in this story.

That's fine, i completely understand the feeling.

My goal isn't to destroy the originals, I want to depict an alternate history of how things got the way they were. I chose not to use some of the old stuff because i think it belongs with the original.  
Trying to make a literal straight copy of an established dmc game with the exact same dialogue and plot, only with another set of characters, oc's, self-inserts or whatever would simply be disrespectful to your intelligence, at least through my eyes.

It always makes for a rather boring story anyway, i've played these games a million times.  
Reading it with new characters but the exact same formula just doesn't really do it for me, though i'm sure many get a huge kick out of it.

Either way, i apologize.

On the brighter side of things, I'm going to try to make chapters longer and better paced.

Also, i've received many good suggestions about where to go from here, and I think i may just be able to tailor it to what i had in mind originally. Thank you.

* * *

 **Chapter 12**

* * *

Right. You may be wondering about Roger replacing many of Dante's other information brokers. So here's the thing, i forgot entirely about Enzo.

I could go back and re-edit this chapter, but the thought occurred to me that it would be more logical for Dante to have had more than one person aiding him in the fight.  
So will Enzo show up at some point? I don't know, this story has a lot of characters already and i haven't really used much of the full roster of DOA so we'll see.

If the demand is there, i'll try and work him in, to put it that way.

Something else i want to kind of address is Dante's clothes. His current ones i have him wearing are not the recognizable ones from previous games, nor the reboot.

The intention was to choose a more mixed attire to try depict something less familiar.  
I recommend reading the first chapter if you've forgotten what he's wearing.

For the future of his attire, i've got an idea about how to transition him over to something more recognizable.

On the subject of Vergil, the portion where Roger transforms was based on gothic poetry, somewhat, as i wanted a dark and predominantly menacing transformation sequence and wasn't sure that my usual style would work.

I probably buried a lot of the actual event in convoluted language and the prose tends to really switch around radically during the scene, which i apologize for as well.

Let me know whether or not i succeeded in using this style.

* * *

 **Chapter 13**

* * *

So, I know what you may be thinking.

I'm going to cover more of Vergil's backstory at a later date as I'm still trying to figure out what exactly throws him over the edge. I also want to show more of Dante's history as well.

Also it sucks when theres two whole chapters of origin stories back to back.

It seems i may have caused some confusion here with Vergil. He let himself be tortured so he could channel that pain into his demonic powers so he could grow stronger and because this Vergil finds that he can unleash anger this way. After he gets what he wants from Morrigan, he fully becomes elevated into his true potential, so as far as this is concerned, you are witnessing Vergil's awakening.

I'm not trying to insinuate that he loves pain because, well, just because. Theres a reason he let himself become subjected to that. Also, he has an incredibly high tolerance for pain from fighting so much (you'll see why later on), so that helps out a lot.

Oh yeah, and by the way, Dante was neighbors with Sarah (who is a Virtua Fighter character, her and her brother are the last ones I promise), so, yeah i fudged it and had them know each other in this continuity i've created. The point was to have the timelines pre-existing together as one universe rather than have the continuities separated out and only coming together for the purpose of the series.

Thank you.

* * *

 **Chapter 14**

* * *

...  
Note: Pre-Under-Construction Era  
...

Don't really know what was going through my half-awake skull when i posted the original version of this early this morning.

Entire story is currently undergoing revision.

* * *

 **Original Chapter 15**

* * *

...  
Note: Pre-Under-Construction Era  
...

I'm planning on having this tie in later at some point. Dunno, we'll see. I might make a mega crossover that explains the context of this chapter properly or something.  
There was supposed to be a chapter posted in place of this, but i didn't want to repeat my mistake with 14 and post then revise.

So i wrote this instead. It took longer than expected.

And lo and behold, here it is, mid-week and badly timed.

...  
Note: Under-Construction Era  
...

On an updated note, though this is filler, i feel like i should mention that the story i'm writing has a definite mythos and this fits in with a lot of the history.  
Think of it as more a continuation of chapter 13.

Also, before anyone has a coronary, Mai is part of the DOA 5 roster now.

I needed a female character who i could make older than established canon would allow and because she hasn't been incorporated into the actual storyline, I chose her.

It's just a logistically smarter move for me.

That being said, anyone who knows SNK will probably criticize me for using her wrong and screwing up that canon, but again, she's not anywhere near a main character here and,  
as many people can attest, this series doesn't follow a lot of any established continuity.

And if I make a King Of Fighters crossover with Devil May Cry proper, I will explain why she's acting this way and appears to not acknowledge any kind of relationship with Andy.

Thank you.

* * *

 **New Chapter 15**

* * *

So it's been a while.

Not from writer's block mind you, but because my work life got very hectic for a little while.  
It's getting harder and harder to find time to write chapters and this one had been lingering unfinished for a while. It's just about time management right now.

Yes, i fucking hate to admit it, but the Mai chapter was filler. I meant for it to tie in somehow but i completely spaced that and so it remains an entire stand alone chapter that serves as a way to explain more of why Dante is the way he is. It's not that she's broken up with Andy, rather she hasn't met him yet.

This chapter is more plot dominated because i wanted a faster-paced feel and more advancements in the actual plotline without making it an obscenely long work. Mai isn't essential to the main plot so don't fret about her much. She will have a furthered role rather than just a cameo but it won't be major. I got it into my head early on that Dante's maturation into a man was a somewhat important topic to address and i thought it would be fun to tell the origin differently than it's been seen before, with the understanding that its still visually similar to the original series of course.

I'll be working more on the characters i've already introduced rather than using entirely new ones so as to try to focus more on quality rather than overloading the cast.

* * *

 **Chapter 16**

* * *

So, what up?

It's been a while, things happened between last chapter and now. People died, politics changed, love was lost, dramatic stuff.

I put a bit of a different spin on this. The last few chapters i felt were mixing more a low-fantasy vibe with some grandiose stuff, so i went bigger in a subtle way. I also took the time to weed out a few continuity issues, so if it seems like theres some inconsistencies, those will get solved in future chapters. I like mysteries, what about you?

Do you think i should actually change the genre classification to mystery-action/adventure instead of adventure-crime? i'd like to get it sorted out, it's always bugged me that the system kind of limits you to only two genre descriptions. I don't know, this fic has a lot of different things going on.

I'd like to expand on the mythology somewhat. Maybe i'll make a chapter devoted entirely to backstory or something. Then again, it would kinda suck to get another filler chapter but at least you would know it's coming. Let me know through your review or private message.

I'm leaning towards making a prequel to this next. What do you guys think? Maybe i could cross it over with saints row and just have it focus on Dante's earlier days after he's killed Vergil and sealed the demon world off.

Or hell, why not a crossover with king of fighter and fatal fury? That way you guys would get a link from the Mai chapter to the story as a whole.

I've also been working on this Sword Art Online story. It's not finished right now, i guess i'll shamelessly promote it in a later chapter. It's a big reworking of the whole thing, you could think of it as a 'Methods of Rationality meets Crappy Anime.' Yeah, not a big fan of the original SAO but i'm into the potential of it.

* * *

 **Chapter 17**

* * *

 **Hello everybody**

So it's been quite a while but i've decided to provide a massive update to some the series overall aesthetics.  
Also, mainstay readers have gone up in the meantime. In which case, good to have you guys on board!

Yes, I know this intro is radically different from previous chapters, which is to say they had none. But i'm experimenting, it's time for new things.

I decided to update the cover photo as well. It's something i wanna try but let me know if you like it.  
I know this took quite a while, this series is already over a year old, but with that said, enjoy.

 **...  
** **Secondary Chapter 17 Update/Note  
** **...**

So, just some clarity. I'm in school again. It sucked hard the first time but coming back feels really good.  
Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that i'm at least ready for it now. And no, i didn't just drop off from the site altogether.

Just no time to write anymore.

Anyways, don't expect the next chapter for a loooong time. Maybe a few months or so. I decided to make this chapter lengthy because of the massive time gap.  
I had planned on writing this weekly at one point.

Shows how naive i used to be, don't it? Well, reviews are appreciated, see you next time.

* * *

 **Chapter 18**

* * *

Okay, so now we're getting down to things. This took me the entire break to write and it's long as a result but just think of this as more fuel for your fire, right?

Anyway, i really wanted to explore the duality of certain character personalities. What i've developed contrasts against the official source material and i wanted that on display here.  
In terms of character development, i put more time into developing backstory in the text. Hopefully that suits you guys just fine, it was fun for me come up with.

Further notes on the future of this series will be at the bottom: Enjoy.

 **...  
** **Secondary Chapter 18 Update/Note  
** **...**

 **Update!:**

I want to clarify a few things. Firstly, the reveal of Vergil's sword actually being the Jinran-Maru is meant as part of a twist that'll come later.  
Second, I might change the genre to better reflect the intents of the work. I notice some mild confusion regarding the overall direction of the plot. I like things ambiguous, what can i say?  
If it helps make any sense, i watched a lot of David Lynch films recently heh heh.

Anyway, i fixed a few things, errors, descriptions that weren't clear enough and some minor grammatical issues i noticed.  
One of the most notable issues i fixed was Tina. She just sorta disappeared between chapters ha ha. She's back now though.

I'll be busy still but keep an eye out for a One Shot story i'm writing right now.  
All i can say is that it's more violent and horror-oriented than this series and will be based upon the Heart of Darkness chapter, that whole 'when they were younger' timeline.  
Also, here's a plug for Devil's Dance. READ THAT PLEASE.

Additionally, i have plans for a prequel set after that other One-Shot which'll showcase how Dante evolves and transitions into who he is at the beginning of this series. Thank you all!

* * *

 **...**

 **Chapter 19**

 **...**

* * *

Alright, this was written sometime ago, but I never had the courage to post it.

#1: I sought to avoid posting anything new because I still haven't managed to revise chapters 12 through 18.  
#2: This was something I made from the remains of the original chapter 15. No one liked it, not even me. It was filler, and bad filler at that.  
It pointlessly introduced a new smutty character for Dante to sleep with in five seconds after meeting her.  
Not one bit of it made sense, and to make matters worse, it did little to advance the story. So i axed it, finally . . .

#3: Additionally, I was going through a very deep period of ardent misery and depression. It's not something I control, my serotonin simply dips and I feel like crap.

Thats where this new chapter comes from, and some of the remains can still be seen in the beginning, as it contains some old lines from 15.

But that old thing is gone now, don't try to remember it.  
This is purely a new interpretation, my own view of how the character would be, maybe what he was off doing during the time that he was feeling that pain.  
The sentiment of not really caring what others think now remains, I want this to be seen as something unrelated to the true dmc.  
I'm going nuts here, it's been a few years since the reboot was even released, give me some leeway here.

.

Chapter's 12-18 still need revision to stack up with what's presented here. I was a different writer then, so many mistakes to correct.  
There's also some continuity that needs fixing. For instance, here I mention hell as being the norse original Helheim, one of the nine realms of Yggdrasil, the word tree.  
Meanwhile, chapter 13 still has hell as described in a classical Judeo-Christian context, instead of the new, admittedly God Of War-influenced take I want to present.

There's a few other fixes I want to put into action, then I'll start work on chapter 20 (for real this time).

There's some obvious symbolism and significant influence from song lyrics.

No doubt some astute readers will be able to see the sections where I took influence from Master of Puppets or Welcome Home by Metallica.  
A lot of those songs feature the type of imagery I sought out, so they made the cut for this little thing.  
I'm not proud of myself for some of this, it's very dark. It also reflects on who I was at one point in time, and I still feel shame for that part of myself. Nevertheless, I must move on in my own way.

* * *

 **...** **  
...**

 **So that's all up till now**

 **...  
** **...  
...**

Please note i will be expanding this over time as more and more chapters are published and more and more updates are added to pre-existing ones.

 _ **MAKE SURE TO CHECK THIS PERIODICALLY!**_

It gets updated with all the changes you need to know about, like character, continuities, reader suggestions, the whole shabang basically.  
This'll probably also be used as the 'concept graveyard' where old ideas are left because they weren't used or were, i.e.; written out.  
I have to comb through a few chapters to get rid of these and leave them as good as they can be, but once it's all formatted together properly, it'll look sexy as hell . . . All organized and shit.

Yeah.

So that's what's up.


	16. Dealings As Desired

**-The DOATEC HQ Building-**

* * *

Dante strode out of the elevator and began searching for a French blonde. Easier said than done, of course.

He took a few steps forward and observed that the building truly was massive. What company needs a structure so large? He pondered many a relevant question as he scanned and listened throughout the area for conversations pertaining to the woman he was trying to find and eventually managed to corner and hone in on her location.

Coming to a guard railing that overlooked the executive plaza, he listened intently and picked up a foreign accent applied to a female. It was emanating from above him but there was seemingly no viable way to get higher up, so he leaped over the guardrail.

Maintaining his grip to it, he planted his feet firmly against the lower wall and used both this surface and the balustrade as leverage to launch up several feet into the air.

He pushed off the wall and propelled himself upwards, leaving solid black footprints on the lighter colored paint. His ascent maintained for as long as he needed and he eventually flew up past a conference room that looked inaccessible from any other point in the building. Inside were men and women in business suits striking serious faces while listening to a woman who bore a peculiar similarity to the description of Ms. Douglas.

His momentum carried him up above and it sank in that he was around 600 feet in the air with nothing to break his fall but sturdy walkway bridges some 200 feet below him.

If he fudged the landing, it would seriously impact his objective and would also force him to try hiding his abilities from several thousand onlookers. He had more confidence than to let himself think about that.

As he began to descend, he positioned himself accordingly, diving down head first with his arms outstretched. It was close.

Zooming in further, he somehow managed to grab hold of the small railing that went around the glass room, like a failsafe in case the glass broke against someone's weight.

His velocity prevented him from stopping gracefully, coming down and crashing against the pane. It shattered against his body and his superhuman grip enabled him to remain latched on to the steel banister, bending it out of shape.

The people inside reacted with shouts of confusion and anger. He pulled himself up and into the room where he was met with a metal chair to his face.

Its legs ripped off while he stayed stationary, having not moved a muscle in response. The man who slammed the chair against him faltered backward into the small crowd upon seeing the man was entirely unharmed.

At the same time, Helena grabbed a concealed gun and aimed at him. Yelling in her signature intonation, she demanded to know his reason for bursting through the window.

"How dare you interrupt this meeting! Who and what are you!-?"

"Heh, I can understand why you're a little on edge. I wanted to enter a lot more gracefully than that." He said.

More frightened executives attacked him, leading to Dante shoving one of them back into the only non-glass wall. This prompted them to stay back longer and farther away.

"I will not repeat myself!" She said.

"Okay, just calm down. I'm not here to hurt anyone, I just want some answers, ma'am." He tried explaining. He began walking forward.

"Do not take another step." She said but he didn't listen, instead continuing to slowly approach her with his right hand held up.

"I'm warning you. I won't hesitate." She said, an icy quality emanating from her eyes.

"Hey, come on. Don't be like that, I just want-." He was cutoff when she fired a round into his forehead.

His head cracked backwards in a jerky motion. The others in the room quieted down and began showing admiration towards her.

However, Dante, who was still standing, tilted his face back forward, a small red dot on his upper brow and an angered expression. The others recoiled away in fear.

"What is it with everyone attacking me on sight? Did everyone stop taking their reasoning pills-." His comment was interrupted again as she shot him a second time in the exact same place, sending a red mist out in the process

He teetered a small bit before catching his balance easily. He looked down at her again and spat blood on the ground to his side. An insignificant amount of the red liquid began dripping from his forehead wound.

"Really? What was that one for? I wasn't even finished. Look." He paused as he dug the protruding bullets out of a dent in his temple.

"I need to speak with you and Bayman. It's important we talk. Something is going on here and I think you may have some answers." He said.

"How do you know Bayman?" She questioned.

"Christie-." He was shot once more, somehow in the same spot.

He corrected himself again and gave her a dangerous look.

"Are you trying to make me kill you? I never do that to humans but you are making a serious case against the rule."

She gaped at him with solid confusion.

"Anyone who knows Christie is an enemy of mine." She venomously exhaled.

"I don't work for her! Jesus Christ, lady, no wonder she wants to kill you so ba-." She fired at his head again, only this time, he grasped the bullet from its path and dashed forward. He placed it into her dress, between her cleavage and redirected her pistol up to the ceiling. He then took the projectile still lodged in his forehead and threw it out the window behind him.

She struggled and was forced to fire all the remaining bullets out through the ceiling.

"-dly. Let go. I'm not playing anymore. I'm not here to kill you and I'm certainly not interested in your meeting. _**Give me answers**_." He said, flashing his eyes red.

She felt swayed by his charisma, the mystery behind his 'baby blues.' The dangerous manner with which he treated her intrigued her as much as it raised a red flag.

She dropped the gun and he let her arm go free. She looked down and saw the casing tucked away in between her breasts, warmly pressing against her skin (the bulk of it's heat having been taken by Dante when he held it). She quickly grabbed it and then slapped him across the face.

"Here it comes." He stated sarcastically as her hand raced toward his cheek. The slap hit him hard, even though it didn't hurt.

"Pervert!" She screamed just as the others around her attempted another attack. He stood back from her several paces and easily kneed one in the stomach, sending him flying into the others. She outright punched him for hurting the attendees.

"I got it again." He remarked upon his seeming luck to be a receptacle for physical violence. "Look, what do you know about demon's?" He then said.

Her previous experience led her to believe he was speaking of the Fiend's Ryu often fought as well as a few other undisclosed incidents her father had to deal with during his reign.

"I know enough. Why do you want to know?" She said, still unsure of whether she wanted to trust him. A small glimmer of hope twinkled inside him.

"Edgemere." He said, knowing that she had likely heard of the events that had transpired via the news. Helena's face spread out in affected surprise.

If her own company was investigating what was going on down there this very moment, what was he doing upstate? Though still hesitant to trust him, she realized that if he had something to do with the city but was seeking her directly, she might be able to ascertain MIST's involvement.

"This meeting is over. You're with me." She spoke as she took him with her through the doors and into a hallway leading to several elevators. She took a very specific one that led to her own personal office directly.

Arriving in, they walked out and into the side of her office, her desk, chairs and many plants having been cleaned and tidied up. She offered him a seat adjacent to hers in front of the desk.

As they sat down, she buzzed Kokoro.

"Kokoro? I ask that no one disturb me at this time." She said firmly.

A few ruffled sounds came from the other end before she responded.

"Wait what? You're not scheduled to be out of the meeting until another thirty minutes!" Saying in confusion.

"Something came up." She said.

An agitated but respectful Kokoro responded, "O-okay ma'am. Let me know if you need anything."

The conversation ended.

"Huh." Dante chirped up.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's just, in order to bluff my way in to see you, I had to tell the front-desk-lady that I was the caterer and I was here to see your assistant." He explained.

"I see. That is problematic. I will let her know." She said as she called for her secretary once more.

* * *

 **-In The Next Room Over-**

* * *

Akira sat down on a chair, he and Kasumi having finally managed to catch up to the others. He felt a slight stomachache coming on. What exactly was going on with his body, he couldn't really know. All he was able to discern was that it was breaking down under pressure of his own new found power. Perhaps he wasn't meant to wield such a high volume of energy.

Whatever the case, he couldn't give it much thought, as he had to be on his guard when Ryu, sitting across from him, elevated his glare into an uneasy conversation.

"So, what do you do?" He said.

Akira was unconfident about what he should say.

"I, uh . . . I used to be a tournament competitor." He said as Hayabusa eyed him, a look of skepticism scratched into his face.

"Really? I don't recall seeing you anywhere." The ninja said in response.

"You compete in the Dead or Alive series?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"That'd explain it. I entered into the World Fighting Tournaments." He said.

"Ah. I never had any reason to enter those. Did they give you money and a belt or something if you won?" He asked the former champion casually.

"N-no. You earned the title of #1 fighting champion in the world."

" . . . Any paid expenses with that?" He asked.

"Battlegrounds."

They stared at each other. It was clear that under different circumstances they could probably be a lot friendlier with one another.

Ryu had a subtle but darkened brown stain on his arm. On his sleeve was a barely visible bullet hole that had been sewn up. Akira looked at it and decided to use it as a topic.

"How'd you get that?" He said, pointing to the man's shoulder.

"A fiend."

"Interesting . . . What are those?" He asked.

"Demon's from another realm. I fought one in Edgemere and it took a shot at my arm. That'd be the reason I wasn't able to tag along." Ryu said, explaining his whereabouts to him.

"Tell that to Kasumi, she's the one who didn't take too kindly to the disappearance." He said. He could tell this didn't sit well with the ninja.

"Yes . . . I suppose she was the one I should have told that. No matter, I'll have plenty of time now." He said.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile, at MIST HQ-**

* * *

Rig busted his door open, walking over to his desk. He sat down at his chair and quietly leaned back. With one cathartic sigh, he lit a cigarette. He didn't usually smoke, often preferring to save his lungs from becoming short-winded. He put his feet on the desk and puffed.

Around his wrists were thick, black bands that had seen better days. On the right hand was a fingerless glove that matched his dark apparel. He had a specialized ring on the other and tattoos could be seen lightly down his right arm.

After a few puffs, he put it out with his palm and then threw the butt in the trash.

He decided to take a snooze and so placed his ebony hood over his eyes as he went to sleep. Suddenly, a blue swirl of energy formed on the side of his office wall. Stepping out was a silver-haired man with a blue coat.

"Wake up, you tasteless boor." Vergil said as the man, without missing a beat, banged his fist on the table, which opened a drawer automatically. He reached in and pulled out a loaded 45. Magnum and pointed it directly at the graceful devil.

"And you want?" He said, remaining in his relaxed position.

"Incredible, you're as puerile as you are reprehensible."

"You care to repeat any of that in English?" The man said. His guest looked unamused.

"It's not like that little trinket could do much of anything, anyway. I wish to make you a deal." He said.

"Oh yeah? What could a moron like you offer me?" Rig spoke confidently. He felt he was in total control.

"Dante." The man's face went white like a ghost.

"And just how would you know anything about this man?" His expression inquisitive, the man was open to anything at this point.

"I'm very knowledgeable." Vergil said. Continuing his train of thought, "You see, I have plans of my own, only there's a slight complication. The ninja, Ryu Hayabusa."

The name struck a very sensitive chord.

"So, what, you trying to take over the world? Stopping that is kind of his shtick." The human said.

"Oh, I'm aware. My goals don't concern humans." He gave a curt nod to Rig after saying this.

"Whatever." He said.

"All I want to do is conduct a simple trade. You give me Ryu Hayabusa, I give you Sparda's child on a silver platter." At the mention of that name, the man began to take the demon seriously.

"Just how do you expect me to bring you the ninja, huh? Every single force on earth has taken this guy on; none have actually caught him. What makes you think MIST has any better chances?" Rig said.

"This time, you will have the benefit of a devil's help." Vergil responded.

The man struck a confused look at him.

"Okay. Supposing that we are actually having this conversation, which we're not, the help of a 'devil' entails what?" He eyed him with peculiar bemusement.

"That's a surprise you deserve to not have spoiled." The man became angered.

"Who are you to come here and demand my help? I don't even know your fucking name." He was instantly sorry. Vergil zoomed forward and nearly decapitated the man, Yamato having made a very slight surface cut on his throat. Instinctually, he pulled the trigger and shot him through the ribs, only for the man not to react at all.

Keeping the edge directly at his neck, he spoke to him with an uncomfortable degree of malice.

"You're going to have to watch it with that profanity. Who are _you_ to question me? You don't have any options over this so let me make this perfectly clear to you. You will die and your infantile sovereign nation will crumble beneath my boot if I so desired it." He said. The unadulterated menace in his red eyes, it pierced into the man's soul.

"Okay! Okay. Just- . . . Just back off, alright? It'd be easier to collaborate if you didn't have a sword at my throat!" He exclaimed, knowing it was futile to try to resist the mysterious man's will.

He stepped back and sheathed his sword slowly until around one inch was left exposed before closing it harshly. The barrel of the weapon suddenly slipped off the handle as Rig observed it with shock, the gun sliced in two.

"Now. You will do as I say and divert your course to Ryu." Vergil said.

"Where is he?" Rig cautiously asked

"You've already sent forces there, DOATEC HQ, I believe. Kill two birds with one stone, why don't you?" The hybrid told him.

"Yes . . . Can I still assassinate Helena and Bayman?" He asked.

"Of course." The man took a small moment to pause before continuing, "They matter little in the grand scheme of things." Waving his hand at the mere thought of keeping them alive.

"How do you know he's really there?"

"I've been watching them, same as I have you. Do you really believe that I could let your organization go unbridled?" The imposing Cambion spoke.

" . . . Are you the Devil?" Rig asked, wondering why this man knew so much.

"What? Don't be ridiculous. There is no _one_ Devil." He said in response, completely deadpan.

" . . ." The man was silent, unable to rationalize what was happening.

"Now I believe we understand one another. Just . . . trust me." As he said these words, he gave a disturbing smirk and his eyes became filled with crackling energy. He stepped back away from the desk and then abruptly vanished.

His glowing eyes were the last part of his body to disappear.

Rig looked around him and got up from his position, he walked over to a wall and put his ear to it after letting his hood down. He heard nothing. Everything was as it should be.

"What the-?" He turned to face the opposite wall, almost afraid if there was something to pop out at him, becoming worked up and breaking into a sweat. As he twisted, he saw not a thing and yet a sudden jolt shocked him anyway.

The man was scared by nothing. He walked back over to his desk and picked up a secure landline phone.

"S-Stacy!-? Get me an espresso. No, you know what? Fuck that noise. Make that a b-bottle of Jack Daniels." Uttering these words into the receiver, he was met with a bland female voice.

"Yeah."

"Now, god-fucking-damn it!" He blasted sound through the connection to deliver his point. She squealed and ran to grab his drink.

Sitting back down, he was hesitant to touch anything, beads of sweat pouring down his back and face. Rig had not experienced perspiration this much since the events of the last tournament.

Thinking of the man he was just visited by filled him with trepidation and ire. It was going to be a dark time for him.

* * *

 **-On a Barge coming in during the storm-**

* * *

Christie was unable to dress how she wanted thanks to the weather. Instead, she was forced to wear frumpy clothes underneath a significantly large coat. She felt the bitterly frozen wind currents surge around her while they sailed inland. As they approached, so did the dark storm clouds above them. Waves crashed against the vessel, making many queasy.

Accompanying her was a group of stern looking men and women, all of whom either were abnormally emotionless or were visibly unbalanced. They were primarily clones of Hayate, Kasumi, Ayane, Lisa Hamilton and Jann Lee. For some reason Rig felt that they all needed to be dressed accordingly to their originators. As a result, it was a very colorful crowd to work with.

It had been several hours since her conversation with her boss had taken place. She had been forced to go along with it and was downright unable to comprehend why he would risk the strenuous peace they had. Yet, she was also able to somewhat wrap her head around the idea. It had been a while since MIST had shown off any strength and the world was beginning to accept their presence as a nation and threats without action as the new status quo.

Rig felt he needed to shake things up and that was understandable. No brash man would disagree with this; God spoke through him and he felt like the people of Earth had a right to know. His ego was so huge it drove the feathered hair assassin insane.

The ship moved into calmer waters and the cold temperatures finally ascended into heat. The warmth made her think of Dante, strangely. His charming smile flickered through her mind and she herself couldn't help but beam in the early morning light. One of many soldiers sent to accompany the mission looked at her strange happiness.

"I thought you didn't want to be here. Why are you smiling?" The trooper questioned.

She scowled right back at him and said, "Mind your own business, dear."

Her renewed frigid personality seemed to match the weather as they observed small, light sheets of ice slowly forming near the edge of the docks and harbor. They made their way underneath a few rustic bridges and contended with actual 'boat-traffic,' but were finally able to dock at a worn down, concrete pier. Stepping off the float, a solitary soldier who was, contrary to the others, unmasked while speaking to the marina dock manager.

There seemed to be some trouble with their arrival. As the argument increased, the dock manager seemed to show the man his clipboard, showing no scheduled berths taking place in the early daylight hours. After a few moments, the soldier revealed a gun with a silencer and shot the man in the head before he could react. He threw the lifeless corpse into the slowly freezing wharf.

The man signaled then to Christie and the rest of the squad. They quickly moved out, keeping distance from one another as they kept a low profile. Grouping together at a bus, they filtered through into it, silently entering and proceeding to take random seats.

There was but a few civilians on the bus, most were either asleep still or had already driven to work via their own car. Any members who were unable to get on the bus were quickly found and escorted to it by the female assassin and her guard.

Once everyone was accounted for, the people not part of the mission were killed immediately and stuffed into the back as they commandeered the large vehicle and drove to their destination.

Eventually arriving, the team reached the building. Driving the bus into a parking structure, they enacted their plan. The bus rammed forward and crashed through the tollbooth, instantly crushing the guard stationed here. On the other end, nothing appeared to immediately go wrong. The lot was far enough away from the building that it was not considered a primary concern.

* * *

 **-Upstairs in Helena's Office-**

* * *

"What do you know?" He said.

"I know that they're probably the one's most likely terrorizing Edgemere." Helena said.

"No. That would be a monster named Ryu."

"Y-you saw him!-? Here, in the United States!-?" The angrier she got, the thicker her accent became.

" . . . What is he? I can't find a demon like him in any book." He said.

"He's not a demon . . . or, at least, he didn't used to be. Ryu is a ninja from Japan. He's a kind of world-protector." As she spoke these words, Dante couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"If that guy is a 'world-protector' I'm god damned Santa Claus. He leveled an entire portion of the city with magic fire. If he's capable of killing so many people, he's no hero in my book." He said.

"The thing about him is that every life he takes is necessary to keep the balance of things. He doesn't have to be heroic to do his job. He was most likely trying to exterminate fiends." She said.

"I take it that's the resident term for demons here?" The man took a stab in the dark.

"Yes."

"That figures. So you're trying to tell me that he's human? That doesn't make sense. I fought him and he's a whole lot stronger than me." He said.

"If he let himself be hit by bullets, even he couldn't survive like you." The image of his face threatening to kill her sprang into her mind.

"That's only with human weapons. If I get hit with a devil arm, I'm going to hell, just like the rest of yo- Well, most of you." His comments made her uncomfortable.

"Right, well . . . At any rate, I want to know about where you encountered them." She said.

"A hospital. Saint Nevermore, I think." He said.

"I have to remember to thank Bayman for leaving out that part . . ." She muttered.

"Oh yeah, and who is Bayman really?" The slayer questioned.

His good hearing stifled her. The words couldn't have been said much higher than a whisper.

"H-he's a soldier I employ. He's currently investigating the happening's in Edgemere." She said.

"Great. I suppose I'll jump right to the question that matters." He said in response. "What do you know of Sparda?"

Before further discussions could occur, a sudden loud crash combined with slight vibrations. After a moment of confusion, Kokoro ran in.

"Uuuhm, uh . . . Ma'am? Something's happened . . ." She stuttered and paused slightly.

* * *

 **-The Parking Structure Entrance-**

* * *

33.000 pounds of steel, plastic and glass bounded through the expansive parking maze, running down flustered guards and brutally dragging them underneath the spinning black rubber and chrome rims.

Turning on the headlights, the driver suicide bombed the security center, ramming it through the hub and causing the bus to explode. The others were safe. They had exited from the windows and managed to roll to safety.

Unlike the others, Christie had burst through the back where she managed to avoid knowing injury via an expertly timed jump out. As she flew through the air, she removed a small device from her cleavage and prayed that it worked.

She clicked a tiny button and it suddenly inflated out into a small slide that reached the ceiling. She impacted harmlessly and gracefully slithered down. She was unharmed for the most part, although her elbow hit the float awkwardly and caused lingering pain through her joint.

The alluring killer shrugged off the injury and stood up. She looked around, and saw that they had already lost three clones. One had botched their landing and was twisted beyond recognition, twitching inside a red stain in the gravel. A soldier shot it with a pistol out of mercy.

The other one had taken itself out as planned but another had not jumped out yet and so was also killed in the resulting explosion. It wasn't a very smart plan, she knew, but when it was forced last minute by a reckless, militant dictator of a feared pseudo-nation, it wasn't bound to be a winner.

The team continued down, Christie pulling out a sub-machine gun. Going in weapons blazing was never a good idea, so she felt exceptionally misplaced in her activity. She should have been walking through door using only her words as ammunition.

The group split, others entering immediately through service doors, most scrambling through main entrances awkwardly as they prepared to blend in. She herself decided to take the elevator inside, isolating her on purpose from the group. They would probably get killed but she couldn't let herself be caught dead with those creeps.

Despite his strict words, the beauty once again entirely ignored Rig's instruction. Kill Helena, get out: simple. She didn't even care about Bayman. So long as the charges that were to be placed on the building's main structural pillars succeeded in blowing the building to smithereens, she would be happy.

'Subtle my ass. That twat sent in loose cannons again. I'll trap them in. No evidence must be left.' Christie's thoughts then shifted to Rig.

'That incompetent bastard calls me after the conversation we had and dares to have me change the target. These things are hard enough to convince listening to you but then you suddenly switch directions on me. He honestly believes we can down the Ninja. He thinks he can control me. Fuck that ingrate.' She thought.

This thought resonated. It'd be tough to improvise, but then again, some of the best things were slapped together, right?

The doors opened up to a corporate hall. This building made no sense to her. She encountered a lone businessman. Opening fire immediately, the man was killed and then shoved into the descending elevator.

Running through the halls, she finally managed to see a woman dressed in proper clothes that was about her size. She made her move and abducted her into a closet, leaving the body behind, neck snapped.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

During Christie's infiltration, the clones were dishing out there own brand of torment. All of them were armed with the combined skills of Kasumi and another, darker personality.

They began ruthlessly slaughtering any in their path, blasting out Ki in explosions or controlled bursts, depending upon their nature. From the bottom and making their way up, the carnage was ceaseless. The goal was to burn it all.

These operatives weren't just spies but also commandoes. Anytime blood needed to be shed, they were the perfect solution, especially when it came to unarmed employees.

Hordes of confused suits were charred or crushed under the might of these test-tube creatures. An emotionless one cornered a hysterical worker that was drenched in blood. He was clutching a burnt stump that used to be his right leg. Tears streaming down his face, the man looked up at what stood before him.

The replicant held its hand up and generated a gigantic pink explosion. The Ayane clone stood still, unmoved by her merciless assault as her outdated purple skirt was stripped away, revealing this biohuman as being several flights taller than her originator, and much more muscular.

It possessed silver shinobi gloves that ended below its elbows, shoulder-length pink hair, one of ayane's less memorable and generic under-garments, and long purple stockings that remained fully tucked up despite not being strapped to any other garment it was wearing. At the feet of its legs were purple, high heel boots that blended together with the dark lavender color of the pantyhose.

Its personality was cold and calculating like some of the others but appeared to bear a greater degree of intelligence that prevented it from forming loyalty. It scanned the ruining halls for signs of life. Her compatriots left none.

At this point, the soldiers were enacting guerrilla warfare against the 'enemy,' murdering anything in their wake; execution style. It was easy, even fun for them.

The tall, unexpectedly intelligent brute of a clone traversed the building, intent on causing chaos but was befuddled by a lack of any life. It was being deprived of its essential need to fulfill its instincts.

A horrible voice spoke out to it.

"You have unused bloodlust. Listen to me; I'll help you quench it." It said in a familiarly foreboding manner. The copy was already mentally unstable.

"What do you want?" The overt flooding of growth hormone during the accelerated aging process granted it a huge degree of strength but caused the vocal chords to became deep and thick like a man.

"Focus that unbridled compulsion on one man." It said.

The monstrous false Ayane laughed deeply and trudged forward, continuing to bellow with twisted excitement as it bounded down the halls. It sought after the fallen ninja, Ryu.

* * *

 **-End-**

* * *

So it's been a while.

Not from writer's block mind you, but because my work life got very hectic for a little while. It's getting harder and harder to find time to write chapters and this one had been lingering unfinished for a while. It's just about time management right now.

Yes, i fucking hate to admit it, but the Mai chapter was filler. I meant for it to tie in somehow but i completely spaced that and so it remains an entire stand alone chapter that serves as a way to explain more of why Dante is the way he is. It's not that she's broken up with Andy, rather she hasn't met him yet.

This chapter is more plot dominated because i wanted a faster-paced feel and more advancements in the actual plotline without making it an obscenely long work. Mai isn't essential to the main plot so don't fret about her much. She will have a furthered role rather than just a cameo but it won't be major. I got it into my head early on that Dante's maturation into a man was a somewhat important topic to address and i thought it would be fun to tell the origin differently than it's been seen before, with the understanding that its still visually similar to the original series of course.

I'll be working more on the characters i've already introduced rather than using entirely new ones so as to try to focus more on quality rather than overloading the cast.


	17. Enter The Furiataurus

**-MIST Nation-**

* * *

"Stupid son of a . . .!" An enraged Rig ranted under his breath. He must have been dreaming; that must be why. It was so real yet surreal at the same time. He was the leader of one of the most powerful conglomerates on Earth, a distant second only to the scope of Chinese military and strength of American weaponry.

"No one can destroy me. I'm too strong! . . So why in the hell am I taking orders from you . . ." He said aloud to himself, almost challenging the menacing lord to re-conjure his presence. He had called Christie and told her to redirect her mission toward Ryu.

He easily understood why her reaction was so harsh. It's not like the clones were perfect by any means, but at least they could process demands capably when attached to shock collars. This excursion could cost MIST dearly if done improperly.

His nerves were shot. He had screamed himself hoarse and then received his caffeinated drink from his secretary Stacy. Rig needed relief badly, so while she was in his office, he took the opportunity to advance on her. The woman was indeed quite attractive on purpose. Such occasions as this were not limited to simply when his confidence had broken somewhat.

She comforted him quite well, soothing his ego but also gratifying his urges. She often thought that he'd grown to care for her, but he'd usually forget about the woman entirely until it was convenient.

This dysfunction worked for some strange reason. After she had stayed for a few hours, Rig dismissed her with an uncaring swipe and nod. She did as told. Meanwhile, he took the liberty of replacing his spliced handgun.

He grabbed a bottle of whiskey and drank two shots. As he stared at it's effervescent amber shade, he thought hard on his existence. Like the liquid in his glass, the memories he possessed were stained brown and aged. He felt injected back into those old times when his environment was uncertain. As a child, he spent most of the time being shipped from one violent household to another, down a broken path of sharp nails and coals.

It wasn't until his teens that he learned the truth of his nature.

His recollection was snapped away when his door opened.

Out walked an attractive blonde with angular facial features and white, alluring clothing.  
She was reasonably well built, though she was by no means a trained fighter.

"Lovelace. What do you have for me?" He dryly asked, his voice gravelly and uncharacteristically low.

"It appears that our security systems are still one hundred percent operational . . . Why did you report an intruder?" The woman responded.

Rig pondered an apt response.

" . . . I simply wanted a precautionary check done. I believe you would have checked harder had I told you there was a real intruder."

"With all due respect . . . Do not report anything unless it is legitimate. If you want company, call that secretary of yours." Her words cut at his chest.

On the comment of his assistant, the man glared at her, almost wanting to make her head explode with his mind.

" . . . It's no secret, you know."

"Be that as it may, that's my business. Now, how long until the VR is ready for launch?"

"We're on track to meet our goal five hours ahead of the initial schedule. We're looking at eighty percent integration so far. There will be more to tell tomorrow." She said.

"Good. When we reach broadcast point, I want a full view of the simulation." He responded.

"Very well." She spoke as she turned to leave.

"Oh . . . and Lovelace? If you speak to me like that again, nobody will find your body." His eyes grew into a piercing scrutiny, creating an abject darkness that overcame the room.

She was unable to hide her emergent fear of him. She dreaded dying a second time.

" . . . Y-yes sir." She said, uncomfortably shifting out of the office and leaving the leader alone once again.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- At The Second Site**

* * *

Bayman observed a drop in temperature, so much so that it had genuinely begun snowing after the rain had ceased.

The unexpected winter swept across more or less the whole city like a venomous plague. At least a dozen new cases of frostbite were reported in to health clinics and hypothermia was beginning to become a serious concern. Widespread panic over the origin and nature of the 'attacks' led to an almost instant blaming on MIST. In the end, it was wondered if the United Nations would make a move or let the attack go unanswered.

But Bayman knew there was more to the happenings than met the eye. He couldn't place it, but there was just a certain quality of randomness about it that led his gut to believe the Edgemere events were unrelated to the terror group.

After having secured and investigated Ground Zero thoroughly, as he had predicted, the teams were called to investigate the second bombing site. Though it had been described to him as the worst tragedy imaginable, he didn't truly believe it until he saw the damage.

Cauterized limbs and burned, mangled cadavers littered the ground, surrounded by a thick stench of iron and rotting flesh. At least Ground Zero had been flattened, but the second location still had skyscrapers and other conventions of a city. Broken train bridges and flooded subway tunnels forced debris to lounge around in irregular spaces.

It was particularly odd to see a chunk of metal and molten glass from a business building resting halfway under the surface of a river a few miles away from the actual structure.

Undoubtedly the most tragic sight was a flagpole near a crumbled school with the bodies of burnt children impaled through it, distress frozen on there small, round faces.

As it was an entire section of the city, the military had largely quarantined the district, only allowing investigative teams such as virologists or Special Forces through.

The scarred soldier slowly approached a destroyed hospital with the intent of securing it.

Walking inside, it took every part of him to hold back the bile in his throat.

This was certainly not the work of a terrorist bomb. MIST in the grand scheme of things, at least, was usually never as cruel as this.  
It would take something inhuman to be capable of such desolation.

His footsteps generated the only sound present in his area. Being truly alone in such a miserable, dark place left his hearing increased to ultra-sensitive levels.

He was capable of hearing a pin drop.

Observing the construct, he could tell that it was ripped apart from the inside out. All that remained were balance beams, partly collapsed hallways and sections of the second and third floors, though they were gutted and looked to be unstable.

These plots acted as the new 'roof,' the other portions seemed to have been blasted outward from the center of the complex.

The small team he was with had been forced to split up due to understaffing at the moment. As a result, he took the hospital grounds to patrol, alone.

None of the others had the same courage.

He stalked the darkened environment like a lion. Sweat dripped down and into his eyes, forcing him to wipe it away.

His paranoia was mounting. Every time he had to rub his eyes, he was taking a chance something would appear before him. He remained stoic in his facial approach but the moist stains under his arms betrayed him.

The remaining walls acted as his unsuspecting ally, often allowing him to take safety in the shadows it provided. On the right side of the mans face was a small mechanical visor that he could pull over his eye for added assistance in dark areas or for seeing targets from long distances.

Eventually he made his way into a basement area. It was clear from the interiors that the hospital was older, as the lower floors possessed an aged feel that the more contemporary buildings around did not.

Down the hall stood a scorched door held up by one hinge.

As he approached it, a sudden gust of wind swung the wood open halfway and, seconds later, a human-sounding rattling started up.  
It was unnaturally cold.

He paused in his tracks, wondering if the accompanying clatter was in his mind or real.

It took a few moments for him to actually begin moving again. There must have been some justifiable explanation for the noise, though he could find none.

His heavily-modded assault rifle pointed a laser out into the void beyond the doorway. Even the visor couldn't help him see much further, leaving the obscure mess a secret kept from his eyes.

He took increasingly slower, hushed steps as he neared the ominous entry. It didn't look thrilling, for sure.

The rattle quieted and his visor cleared up, when the door then slowly shut itself without the aid of any breeze. Somehow, that didn't aid him moving forward.

Closer and closer, his hand finally touched the knob.

Bayman's legs were beginning to twitch from anxiety.

He steadily grasped it. This would be the moment of truth.

His gut told him not to open it, yet his mind told him he must.

With one, swift motion, he twisted and pulled on the stained handle and the door flung open.

Soulless eyes met him. It was the strangest being he'd ever seen. Its body was rail thin and unhealthily muscular.

The face was stitched together, dark circles ran under its eyelid-less orbs and a sallow color stained its flesh. Deep, bloodied gashes covered the surface skin.

And the entity was gazing insanely at him three inches away from his face. In a moment of fight-or-flight-reaction, he brought his gun up to shoot and got two bullets off.

They passed on and struck the wall behind. His target jerked and convulsed around.

It's lower body draped in a black fog-like-cloth, the phantom hovered above the ground and seized him by the throat with long, boney claws; the touch feeling like radiating icicles.

The specter bellowed in his face and pushed him off his feet. Holding his head, it stared him down while screeching this horrible blare, flying him down the hallway.

His back collided with an old brick wall that easily gave way. Landing unconscious, his mind fell into a sinister slumber.

The human's eyes became a witness to the awful truths of the destruction. A corpse rose, but not a ghoul. It was living fully, however it soon became twisted. A silver haired man stood with his back facing him. Beside him, an alluring temptress hovered a few inches off the ground.

The writhing mass corroded into an ever-growing life form of pincers and chaos. Rising above, it caved the roof in enough that when Bayman looked up he was struck by falling debris.

The scene flashed away. In its place he saw an unholy spider-scorpion spitting fire over the civilians. His mind couldn't fully process what he was looking at. He stood still as it blasted a building apart and a chunk of its scrap crushed him, again sending things white.

His vision returned and he was on a rooftop. Bewildered, he looked up and saw the blue-coated man high in the air.

He appeared sickeningly pleased to himself about the ruination that lay bare before him.

Beside the devil was the woman again. This time, she appeared visible from the front. She was magnetically attractive.  
Her face was likewise perverted into a devious smile.

"Finish your fun and we'll go." He said.

"Ooh lets let him play a bit longer, eh? Its so delightful seeing the chaos birthed." The woman said. Strangely, there voices seemed vividly close by and detailed.

Her partner glared in censure.

"This world will fall soon enough. I require society to stay longer." His words didn't make sense to Bayman. Who was this man dressed in blue anyway? It was clear he wasn't any affiliate of MIST; nothing they had was this powerful. The scale of it had bothered the mercenary from the start.

"Hmph. They barely count as anything other than meat with eyes. We could end this pitiful world right now." Her words were singsong.

"Not so. This 'pitiful world' is very foreign to you now. You'd pay dearly for that ignorance if I let you on the loose. What they lack in strength they make up with ingenuity." He said.

"Pish posh. 340 years is nothing to me. In all my travels the only change there's been is the size of men's ego." Haughtily, she brushed off his comments.

Though the woman had visited this plane an innumerable amount of times, it had only been for hedonism.

Her experiences were severely isolated.

"Whatever the case, its time. I must pay someone a visit." The man said.

"If I can't enjoy this moment, will you at least satiate me for the time being?" As she spoke, she ran her fingers down his chest and floated around behind him. Lightly hugging Vergil around his neck, she uttered a careless whisper in his ear.

He smirked and tilted his head. "As you wish." The hybrid said as he lifted his right hand to snap.

Bayman looked between the pair and the monstrosity. It suddenly turned it's eye at him before unleashing a wave of magmatic breath.

Just as he was engulfed in it's flames, the vision ended and the man awoke with a scream. The scar across his face burned and he touched it to discover that blood was oozing from the incorrectly sealed pores.

He quickly wiped the small amount of saguine liquid away, after which he found the sensation had left immediately.

Observing the environment, Bayman saw the same zone he had been in before.

Untouched since his encounter, silence fell upon him. The man grabbed his rifle from the rubble and readied its aim.

Sweating vehemently, it was only a matter of time before something happened again.

The quiet was deafening, making him long for a comrade or friend he could talk to.

Before he could get a good look at what surrounded him, the small radio on his Kevlar gear suddenly sprang to life, trumpeting sounds across different channels as it switched by itself. The sheer volume of it jolted him up on his feet as the soldier began fiddling with it and ultimately managed to hush the device.

His concentration broken, he peered up slowly, expecting the same visage to greet him as it had before.

There was nothing this time, but he wasn't sure he'd be ready again.

The fearful serviceman surveyed the path forward and slowly began creeping again, afraid for his sanity that something was lurking in one of the seven side rooms down the corridor. Drenched and shaking, the icy air was not his friend.

He would jerk immediately to his left or right but not too far that wouldn't be able to keep his peripheral planted on the hallway. Each door was missing so it was key he knew what was where at all times.

Room one was safe. Room two was clear. The third had some more debris than the others but was completely empty as well. He eyed the contents of the fourth and found nothing. Room five was the same story.

He was almost through this.

The sixth was empty as well. He steadily stole to look into room seven. There appeared to be nothing present. It was all clear.

Before he turned, an abrupt and very loud whisper rang in his right ear.

" **Hey!** "

He swung his arm in a powerful backhanded swing but only succeeded in moving through empty oxygen.

Immediately, Bayman placed his hand back on his weapon, but something wasn't right.

He felt gelid tissue, as if it was the outside of another hand clasped around the barrel where his should have been.

Looking down, nothing was wrong and the feeling vanished before he could inspect.

Trying desperately to clear his mind, he reassured himself, 'It's not real. It can't be.'

The man continued walking forward. Pushing himself back towards the door to the morgue, he suddenly began hearing a creaking noise. It wasn't following him, more likely it was all around him, all at once.

It grew louder with every step until he paused his route. Each time it was the same thing, stop, start, stop, and start.

The noise wouldn't quit until he did.

All at once, a distorted moan croaked out behind him. It sounded like an amalgamation of a cat and a sickly, human cry.

He twisted his head with lightning accuracy and shifted to look back at the collapsed wall. There was nothing.

Bravely, the man turned back again but was semi-relieved to see nothing was truly out of place.

Persisting again, he tried to walk toward the door. As soon as the hallway he entered from was cleared, the Russian turned to face the wooden door again.

It immediately swung shut by its own accord.

His instincts were to run. Hell, it was a wonder that he had made it this far to begin with.

Nonetheless, a part of him felt pulled, almost hypnotized to see what was beyond the barrier. Every ounce of willpower drained out as the walking was resumed.

However, reason returned. Thoughts rang out loudly in his head urging him to step back and leave. He could feel it. Something was trying to force him through the door.

It wasn't a physical entity; he just couldn't control his actions.

The door appeared to begin fuming with a daunting, black smoke. It felt foul to the touch while it enveloped him. What it was or why it was here made no sense to him; for that matter, neither did the visions. He walked backwards, desperately trying to break free, tugging harder and further.

His escape, it seemed, would not be so easy.

* * *

 **-Elsewhere-**

* * *

Dante felt a sudden surge of uneasiness but it wasn't his own. Helena, being a human, wasn't anywhere used to such hazards as he was. He could hear footsteps from far away, large ones.

"Look, I'm in no mood to fight, I'd rather we leave and talk somewhere else. Is there another way to get out of here?" He wasn't about to let her see a demon if that's what those inhuman footsteps most likely signified. The conversation of having to explain things would take up too much time anyway; not that she wouldn't ask him about his surviving her bullets anyway.

"Oui, the elevator to the conference room. We can use a different one to get to the roof." She seemed remarkably calm, much more so than any person Dante had met so far. Conceivably, she was used to seeing people get shot.

They hurried into the private lift and returned up to the roman styled hallway.

"This one." She instructed him.

From further down inside the construct, he could hear people being slaughtered by the dozens. They had little to no time.

"Is it a super fast elevator or something?"

She shook her head.

"I thought not." He said as he shoved his hands through and tore at the metal doors, forcing them apart. Ms. Douglas stood back from him.

Inside the shaft, the actual compartment was stalled and broken. He got the feeling that something had crawled inside it and sabotaged the wiring. Listening for any hint, there seemed to be nothing within the elevator car below. It wasn't too far of a drop either. He began to discern steps closing in on them from the other floors.

"You ever climb an industrial cable before?"

"No." She spoke.

"It hurts like hell I'm told." Dante responded as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. Stepping over the edge, he hopped down several feet as the semi-broken doors slid closed.

The fall would have most likely hurt her if she jumped unassisted.

"Okay here's the plan, arguably the only, given that we're now down here." He began.

"Was this really necessary? There were probably a few other things we could have tried!" She was short with him.

"I know, I didn't think that far ahead. Look, grab onto my back and I'll climb us both out of here." He said as he began gearing his hands up for the experience.

"This is insane. I won't be able to hold on that long!" She said.

"Relax. It'll be fun." He was so sure of himself, she felt compelled to try things his way.

"If you insist, go right ahead." She said as she hopped onto his back, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Try not to fall asleep back there, would ya?" He quipped.

Stepping up to the cable, the hybrid placed his palms around the iron cord. Within seconds he had already ascended up twenty feet of a still several hundred metre climb.

His arms weren't even tired by the time he was halfway up. The dimness distorted Helena's depth perception; coming to believe that the distance being covered was less than what they were actually traveling.

Further and further they climbed, his hands becoming bloodied by the occasional rogue metal strand that had frayed out from the main rope due to its constant use.

"This is going to take forever." She eventually said after a few moments.

"We're here." Dante could see quite clearly through the dark and had easily scaled the entire line. Across from them was the top door.

" . . . Who are you?" She replied, bewildered by his abilities

"No one you need to remember. Now we've a slight problem." The man said.

"Oh?" Her viewpoint was largely pessimistic about their chances.

"I now need to pry this one open without letting us fall." He said.

It might be possible if he were able to take his sword and plunge it through the gap between the doors. He knew he could see the weapons in spite of their intangible state but would it be possible to grab the blade? It was bonded to him, it would have to obey his thoughts.

At least, that was the logic he was comfortable using for the moment.

And somehow, he would then also have to snap at the same time.

He began leaning himself towards the door. His nose picked up on Helena's adrenaline skyrocketing. Could the girl possibly possess a fear of heights she was repressing?

"Do you trust m- that's a stupid question, of course you don't. Hey, I'm gonna work some magic and then we'll be outta here, okay?" The man assured her.

"Okay." Really phrasing it as more of a question.

Rocking the cable a bit, he was able to swing over a fair distance and subsequently kicked the door. He felt it bend in opposition of his foot.

Against his back, he could feel her heartbeat pressed up to his. Helena's was racing.

He swung back and tried again, this time managing to bend it more suitably. Light poured in and blinded them both.

Her grip loosened, the CEO began slipping off his back, and eventually lost it entirely.

He immediately moved to her aid.

Incredibly, without sacrificing his grip, he seized down with his right hand and grasped her wrist.

"Whoa! . . . You good?" He expected some kind of response like, 'No! I nearly died!'

"I'm fine . . ." She replied reluctantly.

Bemused, he pulled her back up onto his back where she resumed her grasp around his neck. Rebellion was still discarnate. He reached his hand over for where he knew it would be.

'Come on, will it enough to be there. You know it is.' He told himself.

His hand nearly brushed by Helena's hair. Eventually, he met cold, hard steel. Grasping it, he closed his eyes and pulled.

The woman was still on his back. Nothing had been displaced except now he wielded his weapon. Taking care not to drop it or lose his mental hold, he attempted to manipulate his fingers to snap. The first time he flubbed it but did not lose his grip or concentration.

He went for a second try. The blade almost fell out of his hands.

"What are you doing?" She asked. Her hidden trepidation had been replaced by clear annoyance.

"I'm trying to snap my fingers." He told her casually, as if she was interrupting something clearly important.

"This is ridiculous. You've doomed us both."

"You're a lot of fun, you know that?" The man said.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile-**

* * *

Ryu immediately knew something was wrong when an alarm sounded. He and Akira stood up, wondering what the explosion was.

"What was that?" The fighter said.

"No doubt MIST." Kasumi stated.

"Why would it be them?" Niki questioned.

"They're the only major enemy DOATEC has. Unless the boiler room exploded, I'd say its pretty safe to assume on this one." Zack retorted.

Ryu began trying to attune himself. His senses were seemingly 'clogged' however by the presence of Akira. His unclean aura was so dominating it was all he could feel.

Wait, no. An almost identical presence was near, as if to be in the same room. He immediately left for Helena's office. Kokoro stepped in front the doors.

"H-hey, she was explicit. No one goes in until she calls me." Her persistence contrasted her usually soft nature.

There was silence.

"Uhm . . ."

"Don't bother. Step away, little girl." A frigid tonality rung through her as Akira's lips moved. He had also approached the doors to the office and had reached them first.

"E-excuse me?" For a moment she was in disbelief.

"You heard me, child. Open. The doors." The man said.

"That really is no way to speak to her." Ryu said to the fighter.

"Piss off. You want to get in here just as bad." He replied

"Yes, but why do you want to get in?" The ninja asked, sternly eyeing the rude brawler.

" . . . Figured you could use help, if it matters." He responded darkly.

"Really, I don't buy that." The ninja stated.

They turned on each other instantly. Ryu stood taller than his recent opponent although it was really only an inch worth of difference. Distracted by their conflict, they hardly noticed the others attempts at standing them down.

The moment of tension was only broken when a second, loud explosion broke their concentration. It came from outside the other exit to the room.

Akira glared at his rival, "Well, lets go investigate." He then motioned with his hand for Ryu to lead the way.

He stood for a few seconds, looking at him with smoldering criticism before reluctantly leading them out into the halls to investigate.

He pushed the ornately designed silver doors effortlessly and observed a relatively untouched corporate hallway.

"Well, ninja? What do you 'sense?'" The former champion mocked the warrior but was ignored. He didn't respond until Kasumi spoke to him.

"What is it? What's downstairs?" She said.

"They feel so familiar . . . Like you and I, but also-." His train of thought was cut off by the sudden, violent emergence of an oversized Ayane clone.

"Kill you _. . ._ I _hate you_ _so much, DIE_!" It bellowed in a deep masculine voice.

"Good luck!" Zack spoke up as he shoved the doors shut behind Ryu and Akira.

"Really?" Said the grizzled brawler.

"Get used to disappointment." His competitor said, often used to being relied upon to deal with a situation alone.

The ninja prepared a fighting stance as the new challenger began speeding toward them in a disturbing, ape-like fashion.

* * *

 **-The Roof-**

* * *

The top of the DOATEC headquarters was expectedly lavish. If the interiors were any hint, the area was adorned with a beautiful, serene garden. There was practically an ecosystem sustained inside it as birds and other small creatures all inhabited the impossibly cultivated vegetation and florae.

The elevator entrance was slightly bent at the bottom near the ground, though it remained closed.

Promptly, the Rebellion burst through the small gap between the mechanical doors, crinkling the metal around it.

Dante used the flat of the blade to push the barrier open sideways. The angle was awkward and his palm had a slight cramp from trying to cling to the sword while he simultaneously snapped his fingers.

In order to get the CEO to safety, he flung the stone-faced French across the gap by her arm. Though he easily succeeded in getting her to safety, the blue-clad blonde stared back at him rather angrily.

After some finagling, he managed to land himself in front of her and moved his sword. The broken contraption behind him quickly crushed itself closed.

"You bastard!" She yelled at him.

"Ah come on. If I didn't want to save you, I would've gone up the rope slow." The response stalled her focus.

" . . . I'm not going to thank you if that's what you're looking for." She said reluctantly.

As the demon hunter pushed himself up he noticed the uncommonly green foliage that populated the entire area.

"My word! Is _all of this your garden_?" He humorously quizzed her. It flew over the corporate leader's head.

"Yes, you like it?" Whatever small trace of her attitude genuinely appeared to shift to a happy stance.

"Well, yeah. It's beautiful and all, but . . . why in the hell is it on the roof?" His follow up question immediately soured her outlook toward him. He was able to pick up on the guarded changes in her moods ever so slightly.

"I started planting it myself. My father encouraged me." She caught herself at the end. She almost never brought up Fame in mixed conversation.

"Where's the helipad, then?" The man could barely see anything past the trees or the fountain in front of them. He walked past her to try to get a better view.

"Beyond my fruit bushes." Her answer sounded innocent in her head, at least.

Dante looked back at her with a wry smile. It was a sordid mix of surprise, attraction and humor.

"What?" She asked, unamused or unaware. Probably both.

"Nothing." The Cambion said with a chuckle.

Before they could take a few steps further, a sudden fire burst from the sky, although the already risen sun was made even brighter by the additional light-source.

From the swirling, supernova-void emerged a Minotaur shape. The intense luminosity dissipated, leaving behind a blackened salvage of rock and magma. Next to it materialized a mighty hammer that fell inside a waiting clutch.

The design was surprisingly elaborate, possessing a writhing, dark colored snake as a guard for its main staff. The physical head of the weapon was roughly similar to an anvil, curving in a round oval on one end and ending in a much larger flat surface on its front.

The beast's body was made of lava. That much could lightly be seen beneath its hardened basalt plating. The head was adorned by thick, black antlers that massively curled out and forward towards its opponent into parallel razor points.

The tips glowed a molten.

The skull itself was charcoal and emanated yellow flames. The size of the thing was large, much bigger than any other demon that had appeared before. It towered at least thirty feet higher than Dante.

The flaming monster crashed onto the roof and immediately set fire to the plant life, incinerating almost everything in its wake with a large wave of hellfire.

The devil hunter had to act quickly. No human could survive this. Grabbing Helena, he physically shielded her with his own body, taking the full brunt of the blast.

The wave of energy was long and painful, running through him like daggers. His jacket was faintly charred.

Gritting his teeth in a firm manner, he remained faithfully entrenched in the same position. The flames clawed at his back, burning a hole through his clothes and skin. The flesh fused itself with his wears under such intense heat. Despite this, his healing began quick work undoing the welding process.

The man bit his lip and focused on pushing through. The wave released finally passed on, leaving Helena unscathed.

She viewed the pained expression upon his face, "Are you okay!-?"

Through an aggravated grunt, he expressed himself, "Mhmm."

She quickly turned her attention away to the garden she had spent apparently years planting herself and a solitary tear fell.

"My . . . my garden!" She said. The years of personal work and care were literally flattened into dead memories.

Dante quickly recovered himself, "How many birds lived here?"

"Twelve." The cold quality in her voice was replaced with something much more raw, instinctive.

He turned around to look at the demon, which had leveled the once beautiful landscape into gravel and burnt scraps.

"Hey! You killed twelve birds." He said, pointing to the beast, "That's so not cool!" He appeared legitimately concerned while he walked in it's direction, intent on a good fight.

"Dante . . ." It muttered. It wasn't intelligent enough to form sentences.

"Great. Another one crawled out to hunt me. Which is it this time, me or my father?" The silver-locked hunter questioned.

"Sparda . . ." The voice sounded like death. No sentiment other than hatred was involved.

"Yeah, yeah big guy, I hear ya. I wonder when all of you will stop blaming me for something my dad did." As soon as he said so, the demonic figure harshly screamed at him, blowing a salvo of embers at him.

He quickly defended with a forward slash, physically launching the chunk in reverse using the shockwave. It easily took the blow on it's shoulder, the projectile disintegrating into dust.

"I take it back, if you're gonna hate me, do it for sealing off the demon world." He declared.

The creature reacted accordingly, shifting its misplaced anger from Dante's father onto the slayer himself. It thundered a heavy roar.

"Come on, are you just going to bark all day!-?" He said, egging it on.

Helena had backed away into a far corner.

She couldn't hear anything. Too much blood was rushing to her head all at once. Everything sounded muffled and warped.

The monster before her was something that shouldn't exist.

The demon galloped toward him, swinging the hammer sideways. Dante jumped, using the creature's extended arm as a steppingstone. He thrust the edge diagonally forward and hacked at its flame eye.

He had to time the hit properly.

He zoomed past the skull and landed several feet away. Though successfully struck, it was not deterred; the beast immediately turned about-face and struck him with an upward hammer swing, regenerating the damage in the process.

About every bone broke. The pain was worse than when he faced Ryu. He landed near the railing face down.

In spite of this, he stood up.

The charred plants dirtied his face but he brushed them away.

His misshaped skeleton quickly righted itself, the legs healing first. He charged forward.

The demon spat a solid stream of fire from its mouth. The blaze seared away the man's features. He didn't care.

Every time he pushed forward, the sheer force of the cinders would increase. He pushed back harder. The strain on his body grew; muscles expanded and grew increasingly sinewy.

The blaze once again shatteringly responded. His soft tissue periodically regenerated itself inside the flames only to be burnt away again and the spine contorted backwards from sheer pressure.

Eventually, he stepped his right leg backwards one pace while he positioned his left arm to his upper-spinal column.

In one movement, he pushed his torso into place, taking advantage of the flexibility his still semi-broken arm afforded him, and moved ahead once more.

He concentrated on his spine and forced his regenerative ability on it. He felt his vertebrae pop painfully back into place and thicken. The spine itself fused together temporarily, affording him extra resilience in favor of mobility.

The man began making great strides, moving forward at any price, ignoring his blistered and cooking skin.

He began positioning Rebellion into a stinger. The force of the blast restricted his usually blurry movements. Each pained step he took, the blade grew nearer to the fiend's heart.

It grew aware of the man's progress and unleashed it's full fury. The inferno converted itself into pure plasmatic waves.

Blood spurted out and instantly burned off. His legs began collapsing from the sheer exertion.

Under such physical stress, his mind was shot straight back into his defeat at the hands of Ryu. From what he now knew, it was a human ninja he had faced.

He wasn't an arrogant person by nature, but in this particular case, losing to a human hurt his pride deeply. Most of his life he'd been mistreated by humans. There wasn't really an explanation, either. There was something about him that some people just disliked. He'd been raised by his parents to accept human nature as flawed but lovable, but a small part of him resentfully disagreed.

Within, there was a deep well of frustration and hatred. He felt it. This was new, it wasn't always present.

'Killing you with my sword would be a kindness you don't deserve.' The phrase repeated itself.

He tightened his fists; he pushed his legs farther, somehow. They were the same. If his opponent was capable of such brute strength, so was he.

This pain was beneath him.

His eyes metamorphosed into a dark scarlet.

A monolithic howl reverberated all around the cityscape. Small animals miles away were disturbed from their quiet peace.

Out from the burst came an indeterminate outsider, something new. It struck lightning quick, tearing through the Minotaur's abdomen.

The hulking brute staggered backward. The fires died out, stifled by the strange interruption. It grabbed its abdomen, painfully covering a hollow that had been drilled through it.

The hammer hit the ceiling floor an instant later.

The creature did not anticipate the sudden collision of bullets against it's back. It reacted primally, swiping it's arms around before grabbing the weapon. Swinging it's sledgehammer up, the demon jumped and brought the elongated mallet down, sending a shockwave out in a sweeping area of effect.

Helena, the only human present, covered her eyes and braced herself. Much to her surprising relief, she was unharmed.

Something had moved her out of harms way behind the elevator kiosk.

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

So, what up?

It's been a while, things happened between last chapter and now. People died, politics changed, love was lost, dramatic stuff.

I put a bit of a different spin on this. The last few chapters i felt were mixing more a low-fantasy vibe with some grandiose stuff, so i went bigger in a subtle way. I also took the time to weed out a few continuity issues, so if it seems like theres some inconsistencies, those will get solved in future chapters. I like mysteries, what about you?

Do you think i should actually change the genre classification to mystery-action/adventure instead of adventure-crime? i'd like to get it sorted out, it's always bugged me that the system kind of limits you to only two genre descriptions. I don't know, this fic has a lot of different things going on.

I'd like to expand on the mythology somewhat. Maybe i'll make a chapter devoted entirely to backstory or something. Then again, it would kinda suck to get another filler chapter but at least you would know it's coming. Let me know through your review or private message.

I'm leaning towards making a prequel to this next. What do you guys think? Maybe i could cross it over with saints row and just have it focus on Dante's earlier days after he's killed Vergil and sealed the demon world off.

Or hell, why not a crossover with king of fighter and fatal fury? That way you guys would get a link from the Mai chapter to the story as a whole.

I've also been working on this Sword Art Online story. It's not finished right now, i guess i'll shamelessly promote it in a later chapter. It's a big reworking of the whole thing, you could think of it as a 'Methods of Rationality meets Crappy Anime.' Yeah, not a big fan of the original SAO but i'm into the potential of it.


	18. Devil In I

**Hello everybody**

So it's been quite a while but i've decided to provide a massive update to some the series overall aesthetics.  
Also, mainstay readers have gone up in the meantime. In which case, good to have you guys on board!

Yes, I know this intro is radically different from previous chapters, which is to say they had none. But i'm experimenting, it's time for new things.

I decided to update the cover photo as well. It's something i wanna try but let me know if you like it.  
I know this took quite a while, this series is already over a year old, but with that said, enjoy.

* * *

 **-DOATEC-**

* * *

Whatever this was, it felt great, almost disturbingly so.

All that scorching enmity blistered his emotions away and in the end, made him something sacrilegious.  
If not permanent, at least for the moment, he had finally become stronger than his enemy.

It just didn't know yet.

The transformation was extreme, much more so than the usual faux-change that he had been accustomed to.

His jacket turned completely bloody at the same time as altering its consistency, becoming scaled and armor-like while the coattails grew angular. At his chest suddenly manifested a silvery, organic metal rib cage exo-skeleton.

The pigment of his pants was overwritten, running into the violent red that painted his other components. Oddly enough, the lapels turned white but became simplistic and curved rather than their usual ridged shape.

As his legs had become completely enveloped in the same mutation, albeit much smoother than his jacket, dark stripes had appeared on his thighs. They were symmetrical and appeared to curve down inwardly, ultimately numbering in at five. Above these was an inversion of the pattern direction. However, instead of more stripes, the blackness remained solid, up to his neck underneath the chest-plate.

Around his gloved hands manifested black, insect-esque shielding, ultimately forming an exceptionally durable cestus that decorated itself in subtle red trim. The plating also covered his forearm but was covered up by the sleeves of his coat, the material leaving the insectoid bracers partially exposed on the outside while covering the inside entirely. They extended down across his darkened palms to form a strap.

His feet were left bare, exposing razor-pointed, black nails that appeared organically exposed up to the toe knuckles. His knees became encrusted with a plate of the same substance as his chest. His lower legs grew identical ridged armor over it, the scales growing black and thicker here. The ridges began under his ankles and stopped just below his joint.

The face was the biggest change. His skin blackened itself, not from the Furiataurus' flames, but of his demonic alterations. Both eyes turned red and then glowed orange so brightly that they could not be perceived as any other hue than a spectral red-yellow.

All of his teeth sharpened themselves in seconds and his jaw strength multiplied itself innumerably.

As the physical changes continued, an outcropping from his exterior chest armor formed an almost samurai-styled, steel helmet. With two patterned lines stemming from his eyes, the helmet enclosed itself tightly around his skull, guarding his neck, until only his mug was visible. The collar merged into the metallic structure, rising up to cover around his scruff on the inside, remaining skin-tight yet easy to move in.

His jawline grew a series of black spikes whilst two silver plates crossed over his cheeks and fused together over his nose.

Rebellion also underwent an overhaul. The skull's closed mouths suddenly jutted open, appearing to be screaming constantly. One side, the outer guard, grew two horns on its forehead and the two bones that rested on their sides became elevated into effective guards, spreading out like wings.

The now-fully-realized, monstrous anatomy gave him dominance where he had previously been lacking. Meanwhile, the Furiataurus continued it's assault, vaulting across the distance with another hammer swing.

Dante dragged Rebellion on the ground, leaving a sweltering trail of sparks. Facing a powerful downward blow, the former-man leapt straight into the flathead of the weapon and impaled it with his sword.

The momentum shoved the great monster's right bicep backward as the weapon reversed direction.

When he flew past it's head, he fired a charged shot into the eye. A significant explosion of red energy burst from the other side of it's skull, obliterating the structure of it's temple.

The beast was stunned temporarily and disarmed, enabling the empowered devil to launch another follow-up attack.

After landing, he twisted himself around into a trusty stinger, moving twice as fast he normally would and coating the brand in his energy.

The Minotaur bayed it's negative emotions as it felt a sudden sharpness penetrate it's left hind leg.

In place of blood, scalding oil churned from the wound. The acidic substance latched onto the half-breed, binding its fiery touch to his new skin.

Though he appeared injured, the man soon shrugged the burns off. Upon regaining awareness, his opponent had instinctively kicked back with both magmatic hooves.

Shoved backwards a fair distance, the monster believed it had injured the hybrid and brought down both fists.

It didn't miss the target, but in response, he'd caught the attempted crush with his own hands and unleashed a dark surge of metabolic energy. A vivid crimson power-wave jolted the attack backwards with considerable force.

The beast was left stunned when it's own fists rocketed back into it's own, already-damaged head.

It staggered around hazily in an oddly human-like manner, disoriented.

The ravenous slayer summoned a fiery fist of scarlet electricity and launched himself into the creature's gut, belting it effortlessly with his hate.

The same, oily blood spat out from it's mouth when it received the blow and more flowed out as the demonic creature received three more, toppling to it's knees.

Dante landed on his foot, one knee and one of his hands for balance, cracking the surprisingly sturdy roof beneath him.

Regenerating a small portion of the destroyed portion of it's skull, the Furiataurus received a sudden spark and grasped him with a large swipe.

Compressing him inside both charred palm's, he was lifted into the air by the monolithic fiend, which used it's flame breath at short range.

Undoubtedly hoping for a shotgun-type effect, the fire's failed to do anything much more than annoy the already incensed devil.

As it continued bombarding him, the Cambion began calling upon his plethora of demonic vigor.

With a hopelessly pained howl, Dante expulsed a colossal, crimson shockwave that knocked the monster physically off it's burning clefts.

Acrobatically able to touch down feet-first, the vindictive hunter manifested red currents all around his body. He slowly raised his head.

Using his air trick to disappear, he rematerialized in a blur. Several feet off the ground in the air, his blade, still fastened inside the perforation, was a foot or two in front of him.

As he began descending, the awakened half-ling seized control of Rebellion's gray handle, pulling it's weapon from the volcanic abrasion.

Grinding against the jagged rock that composed it's skin created a spark that set the acid-oil-saturated leg ablaze as the monster began squirming around to stand.

Once again reacting out of instinct, it viciously kicked out as a reflex. Knocking his unnaturally protective head dead on in the face, he went hurtling backwards.

Flying into the crumpled elevator doors, they easily buckled underneath the pressure of impact. His demonic body slid past the metal when it was bent enough.

This slowed his momentum considerably. As a result, he simply began falling downward.

Believing him defeated, the Furiataurus, now finally upright, turned it's attention away. Seeing the aftermath of Dante's attack, it saw the son of Sparda had forced the hammer off the side of the building where it landed below in the parking lot, crushing several cars and incinerating several fleeing humans.

Any concept of innocent death meant nothing to itself, focusing entirely on reclaiming the weapon.

Placing one of it's hands over the side of the building, the monster recalled the devil arm to it's side. The massive sledgehammer became coated in flames as it surprisingly deconstructed into an incorporeal inferno and flew away back, to it's master.

Upon binding to it's hand once more, the mass took on it's former shape, slowly morphing into it's ornate design that once adorned the monstrosities fists.

After fully forming, the brimstone sealed itself into solid matter, instantly returning to the blackened staff-mallet shape. Any excess flames fled to the flathead tip, becoming galvanized in offensive flames.

Helena, hearing relative silence, stepped around from her hiding spot. She honestly didn't know what to expect: maybe Dante being barbecued or him sitting there, roasting literal chestnuts on the open flaming skull of his enemy.

The woman saw a version of the former. The demonic entity standing triumphant, wielding it's mighty steel, and no devil slayer in sight, most likely having become ashes.

Well, if she was going to die, it may as well be now.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- Inside the building**

* * *

Though tired and weary from endless moral battles, Ryu was in no way finding it difficult to fight the Ayane clone. Possessing neither the same eye color as the original.

After charging at them, the dark warrior lightly jabbed with a quick, insistent kick. Immediately ground to a halt, she grabbed her midriff, hunching over. He swiftly launched a blast of wind with a single swing, sending out a massive gust from his fist.

The area of effect was large, consuming the entire hall as the bestial clone was shot backwards, rocketing through the wall behind.

Several lesser duplicates entered through an elevator behind them, feeling one of their own's injury.

Akira stood before them, blocking the shinobi from interfering.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, having taken a step forward anyway, only for a clothed arm to raise itself in his path.

"You can't have all the fun, these are mine."

"Suit yourself. I'll be watching then." Ryu caustically responded.

Abruptly, his abrasive antagonist rushed into action, meeting the copies full on. Attacking all at once, two with punches to his right and left side, the others with an assortment of kicks, each stayed within Kasumi's general style.

Utilizing his own physique as a stone, he absorbed the attempts, then shoved his forehead down into one their fists directly. A sonic ring blasted out their elbow, breaking the limb.

As defense, he brought his knee up to knock two of their legs aside and elbowed the others down. The last punch sailed passed his face as he sidestepped it and grabbed hold of the wrist, pulling it's holder in to block the seventh attack.

Sweeping this one's feet off the ground with his left forearm, Akira timed it right till the body was sideways but still air-born, before then ramming it with his full-force, palm technique.

Extraordinarily, he generated a fully realized bright blue wave that broke it's back, hurling the androgynous-looking scamp into the others. As a group of posers, they staggered back, some falling down, others left dazed and confused.

Staring for a moment at his hands, his ability caught him off guard. He'd never been able to do _that_ before. Could this be the doing of Sparda or his own, channeled ki?

Ryu raised an eyebrow, surprised at the strength of the attack and it's pure color. The feeling of his aura led him to believe that whatever ninpo he'd generate would be strictly one of the darker shades; red for rage (most assuredly), dark purple for obsession, orange for avarice or a deep jade, for envy.

Nonetheless surprised, the ninja crossed his arms and leaned against the neutral wall, intent on a show.

Eye's broad wearing curiosity, the martial artist's brief respite soon was interrupted by a counter attack coming his way.

He just barely ducked out from the path of a wide haymaker. Despite being missed, he felt a slight bit of a daze. This use of energy triggered the same feelings of weakness he'd been dealing with recently.

Stumbling around, Yuki fell back into an attacking clone that had withdrawn it's tanto. After a moment of unfeeling, a sudden sharp pain from his arteries caused instinctive vocalizations.

Soon after, the rest appeared, stabbing and attacking him.

Ryu moved to help but felt a sudden surge behind him.

Turning slowly, his emotionless eyes met the stare of a very, very infuriated false-Ayane.

With glowing red eyes, the somewhat human being roared at him.

" **HAYABUSA . . . Come and die!** " There appeared to be something on it's back that was troubling it, and the masked swordsman began to hear a moist, picking sound, like something carving it's way out of flesh.

Soon after, huge, arachnid structure's sprung from it's back, crunching their way through her backbones. The clone leered over and unleashed a sonic screech.

Six legs in total surrounded, and her skin began to scale up. Spider-like plating adorned her right arm as it's flesh turned darkly sallow.

A tarantula's fang burst from the right side of it's jaw, alongside other violent spikes, leaving her other parts as they were.

The unholy creature manifested a purple aura and a solitary spike arose from the eastern, armored shoulder, curving out and then up.

After a moment, it lurched forward attacking with much greater speed.

In defense, the warrior drew his katana and sliced off an encroaching limb. Acid blood spurted out at him. Though he took quick note to dodge this, some of it nonetheless splashed on his arm and sleeve. Eating through the cloth it horrifically stung him but left only a dour redness. The little that reached the floor immediately melted through these weaker substances.

The abomination, unfazed, continued it's assault, trying to stab at him with the large skewers she's acquired.

Flashing his skill, the man severed all it's extra limbs, hacking away at the thick, arthropodous legs until they were too short to reach.

Flicking the green blood off in an instantaneous movement, he transitioned into a decapitation.

A loud kerrang sounded when the solid ingot of the dragon sword collided with it's black bracer. Unexpectedly, the metal was completely blocked from entry.

Pushing the weapon away slowly, the increasingly demonic assailant, several inches taller than Ryu, struck him with a punch to the chin.

The blow shocked his head back.

The last time he was hit in the jaw like that, he was only a juvenile. The succubus continued it's attack, slamming him hard in the ribs.

Though it did not truly hurt him, the surprise made him gasp. Throwing three more punches at his chest, she tried to launch him backwards but only succeeded in knocking him a foot away.

He easily held his ground, returning with a fist in it's gut. Without losing the grip on his blade, the ninja, skillfully, flipped himself backwards. Both of his feet smashed into the mutant's jaw, snapping off the ligament supporting it's right side.

Forcefully catapulted up, she was smashed through two floors into a similar corridor. The altered clone somersaulted backwards, landing numerous yards away from the gaping hole.

He shifted himself and left Akira behind as he jetted into the air, through the new passage, zooming past other clones and confused workers already panicked from the alarm and the sounds.

Landing in front of the monstrosity, the man immediately tried for a diving stab.

She suddenly reacted, forcing it's palms together to catch the blade.

The weapon nonetheless slid forward another inch, producing blood on it's edge.

The viridescent substance burned off against the air instantaneously.

* * *

 **-Downstairs-**

* * *

The duplicates repeatedly assaulted the man with their Japanese knives. The wounds reddened his skin and streams of it ran down his arms onto his hands.

The cracks on his palm expanded until his hand 'shattered,' leaving behind a fully blackened fist. The untainted skin on his face grew anemic.

Sparda's power was shredding his molecular structure apart. It seems his body was unable to house the energy after all, having entered into a state of programmed cell death.

No.

"No!" He rasped.

It couldn't end like this. Not after the shame and humiliation he'd felt. This would not be where he fell, in a corporate castle designed for overzealous men. Where was the honor in this?

His warped hand began to tremble in outrage. Holding it outward, the fight built a renewal of strength as his self-hatred began to scorch the very eyes that held his mind together.

The others around him were unable to sense what was going on, a flaw in their design when it came to male enemies.

One of them, a clone of Hayate that possessed a cleft chin, was directly in front stabbing him with an insane fervor.

Abruptly, it was thrust backward as he forced his fingers around it's face. Though still grinning madly, the false-man was drained of all the vitality holding it together.

Withering away slowly, it soon became an old corpse in his grasp.

A sliver of cruelty ran through him.

It's skull compressed inward as he closed his hand, ending the painful death. From it, he took all that he needed.

Without warning, all the blood around him that had been sloshed on the environment with repeated exits and entries surged back inside the porous wounds, even separating it's liquid form from the fabric of his clothing.

He returned to a healthier shade and his disembodied, blackened hand re-grew it's tan shell.

With a coarse bellow, he promptly released an explosion of orange energy.

It flowed beautifully through the desolated halls, almost rocking all the doors off their hinges. His aggressors caught on crimson fire.

They slowly burned to death while the windows burst and melted.

The tanti were expelled from his body, impaling the many, already-anguished clone's in various areas.

He fell to one knee. The aura ceased, and he felt tired but restored. Observing the doors to Helena's office, an amber dot of burning coal floated onto the surface.

The barrier immediately singed, turning black within seconds and crumbling into ashes.

Inside, he saw the inhabitants all bracing behind Kasumi, who stood fearlessly for confrontation.

She relaxed herself after seeing him, believing the situation over, as they couldn't help but exchange happy expression toward each other.

Before he could even stand himself up, a gangling-Jann Lee tackled him backward before a swarm of Lisa's and other Lee's rushed down the hall, hiking down from the floor immediately above them all.

The 'prime' Kasumi warned the others.

"Get inside!"

They hurriedly complied and fled to Helena's primary office space, closing the door behind them as Kokoro activated the security doors that bolted the wood shut. Additionally, a fifty-inch-thick steel barricade that prevented anything from getting past the ostentatiously designed, brown door slid into place from a compartment above.

Just as more enemies began appearing, they entered the reception to face her. Approximately three were able to gain access before the security door for this room also shut itself.

A fourth, this one a Kasumi clone, attempted to jump through the portal but was caught in the metal. It crunched instantly against her bones. The machine unrelentingly fulfilled it's purpose, chomping itself closed as the girl was chopped in half. It's left forearm was also chewed and crushed up into paste.

It landed as a nearly lifeless husk.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Kasumi unsheathed her wakizashi and went to work, slashing off both of Lee's arms before flipping sideways, kicking faux-Lisa down and transitioning into a crouch. From here she severed it's right leg at the hip.

The third was somewhat prepared and defended with it's braces, deflecting a downward attack and dodging a flurry of highly accurate strikes.

The true ninja appeared to move beyond her opponent's speed capacity, continuously attacking as she blurred out, becoming impossible to fully register with average skill.

Even though they possessed her powers, the abilities were out of date.

She bloodied the would-be assassin mercilessly before releasing a particularly strong slice to it's right collarbone. The weapon sawed through it's skeleton, which seemed to lack normal calcium by comparison to most other humans.

Perhaps this was a result of the cloning process, but the blade nonetheless continued grinding around and slowly carved itself through the flawed being's chest. Shortly afterward, she hit a clean break, finishing the attack and completely detaching the alternate Ayane's torso diagonally.

A frozen look of shock and torture was left etched in it's face when the fountain of blood projected the upper portion off, overturning away in a vertical circle as a result of the liquid pressure.

This incarnation possessed near identical similarity with the original version of the purple shinobi.

It didn't matter to her; she knew what they were. The emotions they presented weren't real, instead an empty shard of what the progenitors were and so it was easy for her separate those feelings.

The false Jann Lee screamed for mercy, wriggling around not unlike a dog being choked.

The woman produced a kunai and whipped it around, puncturing Lisa's forehead. She readjusted her aim and flexed her palm open.

A surge of electric-blue energy discharged forth, vaporizing most organic matter in it's path.

The remaining combatant stood still for several moments, staring at the two dismembered bodies by the doorway.

It was unnerving, the face on her double: such a horrific way to die.

The other wasn't much more appealing.

In the meantime, the battle, for her, was over. She sat down and crossed her legs into a lotus position. In the intervening years, she had increased her knowledge and ability by traveling to China, where she hid away to avoid her own clan.

Funnily enough, there seemed be a Chinese equivalent to the Mugen Tenshin, though she could never remember their name.

She cleared her mind, and began to meditate.

* * *

 **-Back on the roof-**

* * *

Helena braced herself for an untimely death. The beast before her defied all logic and even her own sanity.

The monster must be Satan. Was it too late to convert to Christianity? Propably. Her all-business nature prevented her from ever finding meaning behind such things as religion.

The demon prepared to crush her with a solitary swing. It would be easy. All it would take to vaporize her was a flick from it's finger but the rage of injury led it to pour a special ounce of violence into it's methods, just for her.

Suddenly, a hellish roar erupted from behind her. The hammer came down and a brilliant blade met this force.

Incensed, the Minotaur aggressively continued it's assault as Dante flawlessly countered it every time.

The strikes became harder and faster as it tried desperately to over-power the spawn of Sparda.

The constant physical stress and speed began to create a vortex in the middle of the there clash-zone. It pulled in fire and various other molecules until, eventually, the Cambion hit back at a downward sledgehammer swipe with his full might, unexpectedly.

Dust, flames and smoke exploded outward in all directions, released violently from it's invisible prism.

The infernal weapon was almost shattered from the impact of Rebellion's upswing. Magma seeped from the cracks in the foundation, almost like blood, as it cooled virtually in an instant.

The Furiataurus maintained it's grip on the weapon this time, even though it had been blasted vertically over in the air. It landed on the edge of the roof, practically dragging the beast along.

This time the roof was slightly collapsed in, a wondrous feat of engineering to withstand it all.

Mounting an attempted rebuttal, the monster found the weapon would not budge from it's current position, having been embedded inside the strongly-built establishment.

It turned back to witness Dante slowly walking.

In a menacing strut, the transformed entity rested the blade confidently on his shoulder. His twin pistols had become fused into his forearms and so he lifted his left hand to reveal a barrel in his palm emerge.

Cerulean electricity gathered inside it while he summoned all the neighboring energies from their surroundings.

* * *

 **-Inside-**

* * *

Kasumi observed the lights in the building dim slightly.

* * *

 **-Outside-**

* * *

With a savage stare, he muttered aloud, "Jackpot."

An intense blast of demonic-tinged electric power blasted the unprepared behemoth at it's brow. Initially, it appeared to react stereotypically. In an almost robotic fashion, it's basalt-composed limbs began to wrench themselves around without control.

It then harshly transitioned into a painful routine of repeatedly bending and distorting it's vessel out of order. The flaming skull twisted around and it's arm crunched back as if it were broken, the fingers on the palms bending around and defying any kind of skeletal system.

After continuous injuries this way, it suddenly contracted back to it's 'normal' condition and appeared to grab the stomach intensely.

Kneeling down on one knee, it began to scream. Abruptly, a gigantic patch of volcanic armor ripped itself off the creatures back in a surge of lightning from within.

Soon after, other electrical bursts began blazing through it's plates and leaving it exposed. The screaming intensified, at the beginning, sounding something like a prehistoric animal but becoming progressively higher pitched as the explosions continued.

The regenerated portion of it's skull blasted apart once more, sending out pieces of charred bone that evaporated before they could ever reach a destination.

Violent torrents of static energy began to pry it's arms up and away from the magmatic core.

Each outburst sounded like cannon fire, crackling and booming all at once.

One after another, the fiend was unendingly punished. The pained shrieks eventually reached a point where they sounded human-like, then continued on even higher, becoming only comparable to that of an eagle or another type of shrill creature, such as a hyena.

All at once, the energy flowed into the remainder of it's head and released all at once into a colossal discharge.

The monster froze as the liquid innards of it's body cooled slowly, freezing it in place as a statue of obsidian.

Hot ash and lava spewed from it's torso straight into the air in a fierce funnel. It spewed like a, well, an actual volcano, leaving behind it's container and returning to nothingness.

A small drop landed on Dante's scaled shoulder and sizzled. He looked indifferently at the substance as it hardened and cooled into rock before then crumbling away.

The utter lightshow was nothing short of spectacular. Upon exiting the demon's vessel, the electricity created a wondrous azure phenomenon that danced out across the now-clouded sky.

It was only natural, that by then after so much fire there would come soft rains. The storm had finally rolled over their location. The temperature immediately dropped.

A cool, oceanic drizzle began as the sun was steadily blotted out.

The molten rock that continued to spew contrasted heavily against the blue field. The lack of downpour as a result of disintegration culminated in a solid but ever-flowing column of hard light.

All the while, natural lightning bolts manifested around the spectacle.

Eventually, the blaze ceased and the creature finally croaked into full paralysis, although, oddly enough, it's body remained on earth. Possibly, this was a side-effect of the material it was made of.

Still transformed, the slayer noticed the new aurora borealis that painted the skies. Perhaps this was because his power had been mixed in with the static energy or a chemical reaction between the energy and the demonic lava.

Whatever the case, it caught his attention, taking him back to a moment of peace, solitude.

The statue rasped slightly. He immediately returned his gaze to the enemy but observed that it was only the completion of the cooling process.

Still, he had to make sure.

The devil walked forward before plunging his blade in a single slash. Against the clamor of the glass statue, his sword easily shattered the hardened and brittle substance, releasing forth from it a massive reward, a soul of flames.

The orb was special, not like the crystallized blood of the others. It appeared alive and writhing inside itself, a blazing inferno capitulated from it's beastly desires.

The floating anima embraced him.

He experienced a massive rush. Some of the Minotaur's great power transferred into his humanoid body.

A red aura soon replaced the blaze surrounding him as he turned to check on Helena.

She was in no great shape. The Furiataurus' ferocious howling pierced her eardrums, profusely bleeding her into a state of misery.

It was actually a wonder that her head hadn't exploded.

Just what was her head made of anyway?

It took some kind of resilience to withstand something like that, though he guessed a human might have a chance of surviving.

'I mean, they'd like, have to be really, really hard headed or something.'

His mortal half returning to control, the fear-inspiring visage he once wore dismantled itself in favor of his original handsome exterior.

The daemon he fought was much more powerful than the usual fare. The resulting prize made his very essence stronger, almost twice what his level was before but still nowhere near enough to rival the power of Ryu. He knew even his new found capabilities still wouldn't be enough.

"I didn't even get the hammer? A boost up will do, damn it." The result made him more unhappy than he expected it would.

The way the ninja fought him, he knew that the man would seek to kill him at any means necessary. That merit of skill alone would require a lot more firepower to combat.

As Dante grew closer, he also noticed that the woman had become filthy; a byproduct of the earlier carnage and the sooty ground.

"Hey. Hey! You good? You're all right." He said, attempting to comfort the ailing CEO.

She looked at him while he attempted to communicate but could hear only a vacuum, an endless hall of ringing nothingness.

Helena attempted to respond but wound up saying slight gibberish mixed in.

"Whaht? Myh eahrs hurhr. Ie cannah entrender toiiah!" She blurted out. Her attempts to speak without hearing frustrated her and so she switched to French midway through.

"Uh . . . I can't- What?" He struggled to find words, stopping in his tracks a foot away.

She became enraged and wound up exhaling something that resembled neither language. Eventually, she felt her ears and came away with blood.

It was immobilizing to her. She lost both eardrums at the cost of surviving. And on top of this, one of her lifelong passions had just been flattened into the grit and mud.

After a few moments of hopeless tears, she latched onto Dante's torso and bawled her eyes out.

"Oh-Okay! Okay. I've got you . . . It's gonna be fine. Everything's going to be A-okay- She can't hear me." He said to himself as he tried to soothe her.

Her weeping intensified and dampened his newly repaired clothing. He snapped his fingers and returned his weaponry to it's intangible state.

"Ouch, okay, it's all right. You don't need to sqeeze so har- She still can't hear me." He reminded himself. Besides, he was probably tougher than granite now.

Which gave him a thought.

He pulled away, trying to gain her attention. The distraught woman was confused.

"Hey! Read my lips." He said, pointing to his mouth.

She slapped him across the jaw.

Understanding the mistake but annoyed, he said, " _Read my lips._ "

Pointing again, she looked confused but managed to realize what he meant.

" _I think I can fix your ears._ _ **Do you trust me?**_ " He made sure every syllable was clear.

She was skilled at lip-reading, for the most part. The woman had managed to see most of what he said correctly.

With a reddened face, she shakily nodded.

" _Good. Lay down._ " He said, making her mightily suspicious. Still, she hesitantly agreed.

After settling herself on her back slowly, he spoke to her the next part.

" _Close eyes. Then, open mouth._ " He continuously utilized body movements to also aid in her comprehension of his statements.

Her eyes widened. "Nuh!" She shouted.

The man once again found himself annoyed.

" _Trust me?_ "

She reluctantly still nodded.

" _Good. I want to help._ " He continued.

The woman felt degraded somewhat, but once again agreed to go along. She closed her eyes and opened both her mouth and mind.

Brushing up his jacket and shirtsleeves, he removed his glove and looked at his exposed wrist for a second.

"Here goes nothing." The man said.

Using his canines, he bit into his wrist as fast and quick as he could. Ripping out a small chunk of his vein, the man unfortunately took off more his carpal joint than he wanted. He painfully held the wound over her mouth and bled into her.

"Why did I do that, **why did I do that** : _**Why**_ **did I do that!-**?" He yelled through gritted teeth.

She reacted strangely. With no idea what it was, she continued to be unassuming, as the taste was not iron-filled like earthly ichor but was still odd enough that she questioned what she was ingesting, albeit only slightly.

A minute went by. The self-inflicted wound healed.

"You all right!-?" He shouted, trying to test her hearing.

She vaulted up and shoved him away, slapping him a few different times.

"Ow." He gave a mock look of hurt feelings.

At first her hearing had begun to repair slowly, the fluid from her ears unexpectedly drawing back into her bloodstream. Soon after, the deafening silence opened up into stereo.

The feeling could be best described as surfacing after diving.

Actually her hearing was better than it had been. So when he trumpeted into the newly returned, sensitive range, it was relatable why she reacted this way.

"So, feel better?" He questioned.

Helena silently nodded.

"You gonna swing at me again?"

She thought about it for a moment and decidedly shook her head. The man stood up.

"Great. Well, then- . . . catch me." In spite of his dark heritage, even he was not above injury. It felt inglorious as his nervous system suddenly collapsed under the amount of trauma that had been inflicted. Come to think of it, he'd been feeling pretty dizzy since kneeling down.

He fell over, unable to maintain balance. She went to save him from the fall but he slid right through her hands.

Dante's pale face hit the floor hard, his collapse having built speed under his full weight.

As Ms. Douglas tended to the man's apparent wounds, a squall of damp wind flapped her locks around. Though anxiety struck the back of her head, she swallowed down a lump and turned around.

The woman's sight caught visions of helicopters. In spite of the weather, a glint of a sinister red painted the uncovered horizon.

The propellers were kicking up wind around the rooftops. A chaotic dalliance of charred leaves and other, indeterminable substances flickered about in a mini-tempest.

A steely, militant-graded transport landed without issue on the flatter surface.

She stared blankly as men in black swat gear strolled out and in an instant had her surrounded. Guns pointed, the woman enraged.

"What is zhe meaning of zhis?!" Her accent became outrageously prevalent.

"We have orders from Rig. Sorry ma'am. Surrender or die." A masculine voice spoke, though it appeared familiar. There was an indeterminable intonation along with his words that she couldn't quite place the nationality of.

If he removed his helmet, she'd surely be able to tell.

"W-… What is your name?" She cautiously spoke.

"Balthazar."

"Don't lie to me! What is your name?-!" She ferociously questioned the man.

"As far as you need to know, that is the last name you'll hear. Now . . . Get up!" The man barked the order at her. She hesitantly looked down at Dante. His eyes were reeling around; he didn't seem to be very conscious.

As she returned her glance to the men, her adrenaline flared, yet she was cut-off unexpectedly by the wounded swordsman.

"H-hey. There's no use in trying . . . They could off us right now if they wanted." In spite of the tenderness of his apparent wounds and the systematic shock, he was able to overcome for at least one moment.

As he drifted off again, the French mistress racked her brain. Grabbing her head, she felt a sudden migraine come on.

After a moments rest, she reluctantly made up her mind.

"Very well. I concede; we surrender."

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- Back Inside**

* * *

Akira was stronger than ever, much to his own surprise. The brutish athlete had turned his newly discovered 'gift' into a complete fighting force. The skills of his lifetime combined with the presumed strength of a Velociraptor made him far superior to the offense that the clones had to offer.

Though they appeared to be aware of ninpo, they truly had no grasp on how the fighter had turned the tables so quickly.

In spite of temporarily getting the best of him, his recovery and use of a strong shockwave yet again stifled their strategies.

They rushed him again, because it was the only reliable option; this time four deformed ones that appeared to resemble their progenitors less and less.

Standing confidently, he contorted backward in the wake of a punch and placed his arm out to catch the ground. This one and another with a flying kick sailed over and away.

As the others assaulted him with their short weapons, he pounded back at them with his legs, launching them off the ground in a counter.

They went flying through walls into various other offices.

In return, after his feet landed across the carpet, he pushed his hand off the floor hard enough to right himself and effortlessly blocked an attempted stab.

Both duplicates attacked him with their blades but he effortlessly pushed away their wrists with strikes and shoves.

He remained static as they tried in vain, until he grew tired of this exchange and blasted them both back by turning and shoving himself rearward, dodging their paralleled stabs, then slamming both of his elbows against their faces.

The skulls crumpled inward.

The rejuvenated feeling proved to be a somewhat short-lived one however, as the same weakness in his hand began to form again. Apparently, his body didn't care for the inhuman exertion.

How easy could breaking bone be? Nevertheless, a sense of rage welled inside him as he looked at his palm to witness the re-fracture of his restored skin.

He could hear more. Grinding his teeth, he knew that he'd have to do something.

And so, the man chose to fully embrace this violence within him, charging headfirst and battling the others with reckless abandon.

Whenever he'd punch like a bullet, someone would slash an undefended area. If he physically shoved someone into a wall, one of them would run him through.

Constant injury after injury didn't seem to affect him anymore. There was a certain numbness that accompanied his vexation.

Could this be the power of his benefactor, immunity to pain? He certainly felt dragged down by the requirements it took to withstand such stature.

He knew what he'd done. The life of another exchanged for the restoration of his own; even if it _was_ just a simple clone.

His temper continued to be fueled by the wounds. They festered and wouldn't heal after some time.

'Pain keeps me strong, anchored.' He though to himself but wondered aloud, "How else should I cope?"

His skill appeared enough to overpower them, and in time, he began to bring them down with various blows, swiping kicks or knees to the head.

He made sure they knew of his temper. There was so much shouting; all the brutal jabs to the jugular. He crushed noses, inverted arms and ripped out teeth.

And again, the weakness came to him. It was so overbearing this time, he needed to at last regain his health once more. Torn apart by constant stab wounds, his skin cried for more energy.

Jamming his hand out onto the forehead of one, he focused more on this one thing than any meditation he'd ever endured.

The drawing so intense, this time the duplicate burst into flames. A restored man left behind the burnt corpse and continued his fight, ruthlessly cutting down those who opposed him.

* * *

 **-Upstairs-**

* * *

The inexplicably stronger Ayane beast continued it's unwarranted attacks against Ryu. What it was and why she'd suddenly grown so monstrous was beyond him. Last he knew, he'd destroyed the virtual reality simulator that was behind such transformations.

But yes, it was different. He knew this. The energy felt was dark, bleaker than anything that poured from Akira or the man in Edgemere. There was a stench of death and sulfur that inescapably filled the air.

The snapped jaw ligament appeared to mutate rather than mend itself. A new pincer grew from the sore, sprouting an additional smaller one underneath it as well.

The mandible was pushed down until it was perfectly straight, still attached at least to the other side but mangled and stretched to accomodate. The flesh reattached itself, embedding into the neck and becoming a third set of cutting teeth in order to substitute it's now malformed jawbone.

Incapable of speech, she could only screech incomprehensibly and did so with malicious fervor.

"Feeling's mutual." He said in response.

Shooting forward, he came down hard with a forward stroke but was met with the metallic bracers again. A shockwave reverberated out.

The two immediately shifted to trading blows, the ninja issuing a squadron of different strikes, all of which were matched with it's forearm guards.

He struck the thing thirteen different times, all of which rung out through the halls. After managing to strike it's wrists hard enough, he broke through it's surprising defense.

He unleashed a multitude of stabs and slashes, intent on cutting her down as harshly as possible.

Producing buckets of it's acidic blood, he transitioned into his usual stance, the blade held even to his head and his body sideways with his left foot planted firmly in front.

Within microseconds, he shoved the weapon forward. There was an unprecedented amount of resistance from the skin of her chest.

He kept digging the blade in until it fractured and pierced the bone.

They struggled together and the creature shoved her arm against the katana, managing to force it out using sideways leverage.

Acid shot into his eyes.

Black little scorch marks seared into his coat and gauntlets, while his sight burned like dengue fever.

He grabbed his head and held tightly to the afflicted area, screaming in pain as smoke rose up through his brown bangs.

She took advantage, launching three punches to his gut, a fourth into his right temple and finished by somersault kicking his chest.

His defenses unexpectedly broken, the man's feet left the ground. The ground he'd covered quickly closed behind him and it wasn't very long before he reached the hole again.

His momentum slowed, falling came naturally. His back felt a familiar surface eventually, but experienced a shocking pain as the mutated duplicate simultaneously jumped down and proceeded to belt him just after impact.

The ninja's head barely had enough bounce-time to leave the ground before whipping back again.

The blow collapsed the floor beneath and they were both carried down into the next identical hallway, though it didn't end there.

Their mass together created enough weight that even the foundation below buckled under the pressure.

Two hallways later and they'd finally stopped. Now six floors beneath the previous battleground, both laid beneath dust and rubble.

Arachnid stalks grew and lifted false Ayane, raising her by her back while the rest of her dangled. Ryu struggled to catch his senses, crawling away in the wrong direction to find his sword.

Twitching at random, the pink-haired assassin drew closer, nervously stutter stepping as blood poured into it's lenses.

"I'll swallow your soul . . . Et praecipitabit anima vestra . . ." It began to say in a discarnate voice. The first time in English, the second in latin.

Ryu had no time to think, in battle he only did. But, there was clarity in the madness. In spite of the encroaching beast, the ninja did at least have a useful technique he could utilize under such circumstances.

He understood the interconnections of sound and vision, that they process light and auditory information, regardless of their current state, as waves. All it took was a little echo. His hearing was already superior due to his training.

The stutter steps, the panicked screams of those on the surrounding floors, the disorganized swat security teams desperately firing their weapons at enemies, the frantic civilians outside failing to understand what was going on. It was all fairly faint but good enough to paint a picture of moderate clarity.

Things were murky at first, but it came to be that the image around him was blue, each individual person a bright source of noise. The floor received an extra pulse each time his opponent touched the ground.

All things considered, Ryu could see reasonably well for a newly blind man.

* * *

 **To Be Continued**

* * *

So, just some clarity. I'm in school again. It sucked hard the first time but coming back feels really good.  
Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that i'm at least ready for it now. And no, i didn't just drop off from the site altogether.

Just no time to write anymore.

Anyways, don't expect the next chapter for a loooong time. Maybe a few months or so. I decided to make this chapter lengthy because of the massive time gap. I had planned on writing this weekly at one point.

Shows how naive i used to be, don't it? Well, reviews are appreciated, see you next time.


	19. Sketches of Pain

Surprise update! I smoothed over some stuff. Enjoy.

* * *

 **-DOATEC HQ-**

* * *

As it continued forward, intent on killing him, the ninja suddenly sprang around from his chest, shooting his leg rearward into a swiping kick.  
An approaching arm was blasted to the side and then severed with unexpected precision.

It stumbled as Ryu slid onto his knee, bending his other leg into a crouch. When the beast recoiled, it was suddenly blasted with fire.

He wasn't messing around anymore. Ryu'd had enough of the mutating creature's constant meddling. Even though the ninja was by far, much stronger, he still possessed human weaknesses.

It'd been a while since he faced a smart opponent, the closest thing was Dante but he'd been left wanting by that fight.

He ducked to dodge a reflexive tentacle attack, spinning in a 360 fashion as he mounted a counter-stab. Thrusting one handed, the beast some-what blocked the attack with it's palm.

It's exposed flesh acted as tissue paper, easily shredding itself against the fine steel. The blade passed along and clanged against his enemy's teeth, busting off the elongated canine tusk on it's upper jaw.

The clone flinched back, causing it's hand to be ripped from the blade's hold. The corrosive fluid flung itself from the wound, as it had before.  
This time, Ryu stepped back and allowed the viscous acid to splash on the floor beside him.  
He could see the disembodied substance sail at him, appearing blue in color and like a fritz wave of sound that halfway resembled a tumor but mostly looked like a smudged blotch in motion.

He knew what it was. The liquid had a distinct smell to it.

Like . . . iron and mustard gas.

The liquid burned a hand-sized hole right through the ground. Below, he could see a dismembered civilian slowly dissolve into bloody pudding.

A sickening miasma of raw meat, mixed with ammonia, filled the hall.

Ryu's momentary distraction enabled his opponent to bash him on the back of his turned head.

Forced a step forward, he swung his body down, narrowly missing a repeat.  
He launched a left elbow into it's rib-cage, then drove the dragon sword upward with his other hand, clipping off the regenerated arachnid limbs to his right.

They were sheared even further down this time.

A small bone fragment was made exposed, green and jagged, surrounded by bug meat.

Another swift punch towards his ribs, but the ninja shifted right by.

The awkward attempt left it open for another attack as he grabbed it's back with his free hand. A brutish knee bouldered it's lungs.

The slithering demon wheezed out dead air.

Resting it's scaly tricep on his left shoulder, it scratched through the cloth as it slipped back. It had hoped to wound him further, but no such luck. The nails just barely missed the skin.

Nonetheless, he felt obligated to check for blood when they parted, pausing and smearing his clean hand against the area.

His palm came away the same color as before.

He gave it a harsh stare for putting even further wear and tear on his coat.

Having stumbled around looking for balance, it managed to catch a hold of gravity again, centering it's sturdy, v-shaped torso back forward.  
This time, it had to lean much farther to retain an upright stance, ultimately coming to look like a predatory lizard with a spider's mangled carcass attached.

His pupil's had turned opalescent, but stayed no larger than a pencil eraser.  
He'd burnt the acid off with the intensity of his flame ninpo.  
Whatever was left was residue.  
Around the pupil itself, the lens of his eye's had been intensely damaged, leaving a glassy grey and splotches of red where tissue had melted away particularly deep.

The grip around his blade tightened.

Each pulse of blood radiated throughout him when it reached the familiar handle.

He had to keep unorthodox. Much of his traditional tactics had been subverted specifically well by the fiend's abilities.

Then again, he might be a bit rusty against devils like these.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- Edgemere**

* * *

It'd been three hours since Bayman had last sent word to the other soldiers. Wilhelm constantly radioed for him, relentlessly trying to gain a response.

Nothing.

"Men, Officer Bayman has not returned to base with any intelligence as of o-nine-hundred hours.  
While he may not be in any true danger, it is still our jobs to ensure his safety and investigative ability remains intact.  
So, following everyone's successful reconnaissance, we're going to assemble a team to head to the second drop site."

Continuing, he added, "The main goal at this point is a search and rescue. Anything you find, report back as you see, understood?"

The German-American soldier beckoned those stationed with him.

The crowd answered unenthusiastically, "Yes sir."

Had he been a stronger leader, Wilhelm might have commanded stronger respect from his colleague's.

No such luck here, the troops remained stagnant and frustrated.

Why must they wait for the creation of a smaller subunit?  
What could possibly be the importance of Bayman's rescue?

The only reason why they were searching to begin with was due to a mysterious string of noises that emanated from his comm-unit.

A loud soul-sucking scream from a girl followed by cryptic whisperings unnerved a number of men significantly.

They already had such an aversion to the place that they would not roam there, why go and look for the only man who would?

He'd disappeared anyway.

While handling their business amongst each other, the FBI arrived in a swarm of black vans and high-tech vehicles.  
The area was, within minutes, joined by thousands of militarized agents wearing sleeker, more durable versions of the other's armor.

Save for DOATEC soldiers.

A lone suit exited the back of a giant 18-wheeler truck, revealing active computers and tech wizards behind him.

"Hello gentleman, special agent Dominic." He said, obligatorily waving his badge. It was an exaggerated motion.

They all gave respectful nods and salutes to his humorous gesture.

"At ease. Sergeant, I believe you've been waiting for us?"

"Yes sir. Our resources are stretched thin, and one of our men has gone missing. We've tried reaching out but he's not broken radio silence since . . ." Wilhelm ended darkly.

"We analyzed the recordings you sent, it's . . . interesting, to say the least. Gather your best, we'll send a healthy team with 'em.  
In the meantime, I'll have another group organized to go over the sites again and cover your work down. Show us what you've got, forensically speaking." He said, taking dominant charge of the situation.

The FBI had, up until then, been splintered out.

The bulk of their time was spent working tirelessly to investigate numerous cases, all while protecting the president on his visit to Prague.

Not to mention political skullduggery involving their current director.

After the sudden report of the 'giganimous' devastation left by the attack and discovery of a second site, all sects were to regroup and take a hiatus from their current duties.  
It was in favor of a new focus; aiding DOATEC. It'd become clear they were understaffed to deal with the investigation.

Following what they'd witnessed, the group met the presence of the federal body with praise rather than rejection.

It was strange to see such collaboration.

Readily accepting their help, the two teams meshed well together.

A far more thorough investigation began.

* * *

 **-In the meantime- Dark and Bustling, a Place Unpleasant**

* * *

Within a cylindrical tube, Dante's head drooped against a cold, steel wall.

He woke up briefly.

It was foggy, but he became aware of his surroundings.

A dimly lit box.

The air was manufactured, lacking the typical debris or openness usual oxygen possessed.

He took a sad breath.

"Hm, uh . . . ?" He was groggy; the sleep had not been kind. The box was mechanical, perfectly fitting his height with a humanoid groove cut out where his back rested.  
Propped upright against a wall, he became aware of a faint rattling.  
Every once in a while it would become more severe for a second, before returning to the low hum.

The enclosed space prevented him from experiencing the sense of motion fully, but he eventually realized that there was an apparent tug of inertia on his lower body.  
It was just light enough so as to be completely unobserved, presenting no annoyance or difficulty to overcome.

Memories weren't his problem, that came back just fine.

He passed out in the grasp of enemy soldiers.

Helena distinctly showed hatred towards them.

His body hurt all over. Every inch of him burned like the sun.  
The only comfort was the icy metal he'd been planted into.

It seemed air conditioned, at least.

His demon self had been harmed. These were intangible, astral wounds that still plagued him. He'd never used that muscle before.  
Like any band of fibrous tissue, physical or ethereal, it ached. And, because it was so undeveloped, it ached like nothing known to this world.  
The slayer's body felt itself in a state of total shock as a result, sealing off his dark powers. Thank you, trauma.

Perhaps it was better to go back to sleep until he could figure things out. The tubular prism was sealed shut by two doors.  
There were a few other things at play between them and Dante's face, but that was the general façade of the thing.

He put his hand up to the steel door.

It was just to get a better sense.

Right outside, lay Helena, deflowered from her once-beautiful dress, and sobbing for two hours so far.

One of the men came by, before his wake.

She didn't know why.

He soon told her.

After minutes upon minutes of unspeakable violation, he suited back up and left her there.

Now the devil understood. He'd been woken not by the rumbling, the fire, the freezing metal or even the bad dreams, but the crying.  
Her pain jarred him awake, the emotion of it black as a raven.

Her feather's plucked and her head chopped, the bird sang a sad song that disturbed him so.

Yet, there wasn't a thing he could do.

No strength, no ability. They were all burnt out.

No way to summon any weapons, no inner monster to call upon, not even any help from the outside, just the prospect of waiting,

. . . And listening.

* * *

 **-DOATEC HQ- A different hallway**

* * *

Akira wandered hazily, he had that kind of exhaustion only a veteran could get, coughing haggard and forgetting where he was.

He was fine physically, though his power was by no means as strong as the likes of Ryu or Kasumi. He had a lingering suspicion he'd at least be able to take the girl in combat.

His thoughts anchored on her, the mental stress of his predicament didn't fly right with him. The cops he gunned down, the people he brutalized, it all was new for him.

After a moment of envisioning that seldom smile in his brain he collided with the metal door again.  
He teetered off to the opposite wall and fell on his knee, slowly and awkwardly positioning himself to sit down. His legs sprawled out lazily, his arms rested naturally, and he hung his head.

His clothes were stained and reeked of burnt ichor.

Things had quieted down a bit, though he could still hear Ryu battling somewhere. The clones were tough, they'd all gathered around him looking for a quick end.  
To their credit, there wasn't a way for him to block such attacks.  
So many knives came his way, he was essentially forced to play the 'mutilate' game and decide which part of his body he would protect his head with.

At least he'd absorbed some of their Ki, that way he could last longer. But the trouble was, each time he'd find a good way to attack them, they'd just cut or stab him back.  
Finally, he screamed to himself, 'No more!' and took them all to task. He fought like a genius, using any tactics he could to win, rather than the limitation of his usual style.

After some time, their numbers decreased and he'd accomplished his goal. They all lay dead in a plethora of gore not possible by human hands.

Across from him, the iron door unsealed itself, allowing Kasumi the chance to see what had become of her new companion.

She ran to his aid, concerned.

"What happened? Are you injured!?" She exclaimed.

"No."

" . . . Is everyone-?" She couldn't finish.

"Yeah." He finished.

There was silence.

"You, you didn't have to do that alone. I-." Her attempts at comfort interpreted themselves as admonition.

He just glared at her, scornful but strangely empty, like he was missing a piece of his mind.

"I-I'm sorry . . . Are you okay?" He reminded her of Ryu now. Something was irrevocably changed.

"It doesn't matter. The others?" He asked, remembering the cowards who hid.

"They're fine. We heard the fighting stop . . . " She said, realizing that the look on his face was one of absence. He wasn't really present anymore.

Zack walked in, overconfident as usual.

"Well, that was some racket. How's it hangin' man?" He didn't even try to account for the fighter's current mental state.

Akira remained silent.

"That bad, huh? What's cookin with him, baby?" He said, motioning to Kasumi. His Eddie Murphy spiel was wearing thin.

"Zack, he's- he's just . . . He's not 'feeling it,' okay?" She didn't know how to get across an appropriate response that he would understand.

"Oh, right. It's cool. How you feelin', big poppa?" He gave a bit of a snort then plopped down next to him.

Akira ignored him entirely.

Kasumi began searching, looking around the building for any trace of civilian life. She came upon so many civilian corpses.  
What were once roman halls, adorned with gold and beige tiling, had become sickeningly maroon.

All around her were the faces of people frozen in their last moments together. Falling away from the world. It disturbed her.

She looked desperately for Ryu, but her ears were only attuned to the immediate surroundings. Kasumi felt flustered so much by the situation, it slipped her mind to try heightening her senses.

The carnage was something she still couldn't process right, though she'd seen it before.

It became clear that Akira was on her level now. He had enough in him to do this to her own clones; elite soldiers meant for assassinations the world round.  
The last time they had a scrap, he wasn't anywhere close. Could the 'gift' he referred to, after becoming trapped in the old apartment, also be the reason for this?

She heard a grunt to her right. A remaining duplicate with half it's head torn off desperately stirred it's neck around like a bobbing seal.  
Exposed from it's skull appeared an artificial matrix that served as a brain.  
It was still intact and covered in a thick, white sack that turned pink against the synthetic blood.

It pulsated up and down.

She covered her mouth, unable to hold back bile. Perhaps she _hadn't_ seen it all. At first, she was reluctant, not wanting anything to do with it, but she relented to it's desperation.  
Approaching cautiously; Wakizashi at the ready, she knelt down beside it.

It was a much more accurate Jann Lee clone that possessed colorless rings in it's eyes. This one hadn't lived long, comparatively much shorter than all others.

It had a meaningful existence once. Or, at least that's what it believed.

As she decided to come closer, it moved it's remaining arm and grazed her wrist.

She flinched back and drew her blade, cutting the palm of it's hand open.

It whined softly, unable to comprehend why she'd hurt it.  
Her amber eyes could see this emotion especially plain.

She lowered her weapon, pulling it back into the sheath and slowly offering her smooth hand to the dying invalid.

Kasumi embraced it's open hand, giving it something to reach. The pulse was fast at first, but slowed, calming itself.  
It kept fluttering it's eye open and silently miming incomplete sentences that, with only a partial mouth, looked entirely incomprehensible.

Eventually, the flailing ceased as her presence carried it to a calm. It's eye came to gaze at her glamour like she was the only love it would ever receive from anyone.

And after a moment of gazing into her soul, he passed.

* * *

 **-Elswhere in the building-**

* * *

Why had Rig been so insistent upon something so massively risky? He had everything he could want; a nation, a loyal army, women he could fuck anytime.  
So what was the point of sending valuable assets to their enemy's doorstep?

Christie was wondering if there was some master plan to it all. She could find none, other than that he got paranoid, cocky, or had a momentary break with reality.

Maybe he had a run in with the Devil too, she jested to herself.

Driving her way through the chaos that was the office hallway, she found collapsed corridor after collapsed corridor, all lined with entrails.

How darling.

Doing her best not to get anything on her new disguise, save for the occasional bloodstain, she remained cautious. She couldn't look _too_ immaculate now.

She arrived at a large expanse of elevators that led every which way but loose, and chose to go up. Up was where she knew _she_ would be. That blonde bitch, her color wasn't even real.  
Every once in a while when they'd meet for a face off, she could see dark roots coming in.

Her platinum shade was at least semi-natural, having been based upon her already incredibly light blonde color. The dye made her's almost the same as Dante's silver locks.

And there was that feeling again.

A kind of warmth took her by surprise, as if he was there, with his arms around her again. Perhaps afterward she could retire from this.  
Once Helena was done for, she could make a place for herself, maybe to be at peace. She ran the odds in her head over whether Dante would want her to be with him,  
since she tried the whole assassination thing already.

Rig was a manipulator for sure, but he paled in comparison to the slayer as a lover.

She stumbled a bit.

Either the shoes were uncomfortable or the notion made her legs go a bit weak.

Like the times prior, she couldn't focus on this for long. Down the hallways she went.  
Barreling faster and faster, catching vision upon vision of corpses as she moved at such a speed as to appear almost like an Olympian.  
Her stolen royal blue pinstripe jacket and black blouse accented her sculpted form.

However, the sultry secretary skirt left little to the imagination, reaching only halfway down her thighs and possessing a slit on the left side.  
Additionally, black stockings added dimension to her calves and increased the sleek look of her legs. They were a bit shear, but unripped.

At least she was lady-like when she pillaged the corpses of her victims.

In truth it was just a combination of ruthless efficiency and violent loathing, but there was time to psychoanalyze later.

Eventually she reached it, the Executive's hall. Totally submerged in crimson butchery, she halted in her tracks.

Even she had not beheld this kind of carnage before. Immediately, two things popped out at her.

A: There was a giant, perfect-sized hole in the ground a few feet away that aligned flawlessly with an almost identical one above.

And B: Over in the corner was a blood-drenched man and a darker skinned, green-haired fellow being strangled by the former.

His calloused hands gripped the man's tank top like hunks of raw iron. He jerked him back and forth, furiously trashing him around into the walls. As Zack tried to escape,  
the larger man kept hold of him, refusing his attempts to flee. Akira's eyes glowed like lamps, leaking red hatred.

She went to break it up, leaping across the gap and shouting, all without damaging her heels.

Christie had amazing balance.

"Hey! What are you two- Get off!" She said as she decided to pry them apart.

"I said get off him!" She yelled.

Subsequently, the woman was unexpectedly joined by two women she recognized in an instant. It could be no one else but Tina Armstrong and Kokoro. Another girl aided as well.

She didn't know her.

After sometime, they managed to succeed in separating them.

Kokoro questioned the taller man, "What's gotten into you!?"

He started yelling loudly, so much so that it took them all by surprise. His voice became harsh, unchained.

"You, you son of a bitch you- I killed them all, don't you understand? Do you understand that!-? I killed every bastard here, not just the bad guys. Every man, woman and child, I murdered them;  
 ** _I murdered them_ **_**all**_ . . . Th-They're still- they're still screaming in my head . . . You simian bastard, I ought to rip your damn eyes out and break your goddamned spine! **How _dare_ you!** "

The outburst sucked everyone in like a maelstrom, Zack especially. All he asked him was whether Yuki wanted to take him up on that offer of being a managed fighter.  
Of course, he'd also followed it up with several other, key erroneous sentences that helped to spark the violence.

Ignorance proved the final straw for him. The fallen fighter had to let his tortured psyche loose.

His target could only show remorse as the man shouted at him, speaking softly then loudly in order to be heard.

" . . . I-I'm sorry- I'm . . . _No I'm sorry!_ I'm- . . . s-sorry . . ." He was jerky, overcome with grief.

" **Damn it!** " He bellowed so feverishly. " _ **DAMN IT!**_ "

At those words, he reached maximum volume, unable to go any higher than the sky.

.

Then, there was a sharp dizziness.

Christie launched a kick, implanting the heel of her velvet shoe into his forehead.

He stumbled, semi-conscious.

Blood ran from the wound, where the broken stiletto remained lodged.

Akira fell onto his back with a thud.

She removed, then discarded her appropriated pumps, before revealing a modified, black M1911 with a mahogany handle and silver trim.

The woman darted backward, placing distance from between herself and the stifled group.

"You!" Kokoro shrieked.

"Yes, me." Christie was divinely sarcastic when she wanted to be.

"You killed him, the fuck's wrong with you girl?" Niki was unabashedly arrogant in her approach, almost like a pop star or rapper.

'Ain't no white girl gon' scare me.' She thought to herself.

Christie remained silent and moved the gun sight over.

She pulled the trigger.

Niki hit the floor, half her face plastered to the wall behind it. In chunks. Some of the blood splattered on Tina's blouse.  
She issued a short scream, clutching at herself in odd ways.

It was just the worst kind of painful.

Zack howled out an unmitigated, passionate cry. It was long; personal.

"I'll ask you only once. Where is she?" The assassin spoke quietly, choosing not to mention her assignment's name.

" . . ." Zack breathed heavily.

Clasping his hands over his ears, he drooped to his knees.  
The sunglasses fell away from him, accompanied by a few limpid drops of saltwater.

He hadn't changed from his usual get up. The acrobatic short-shorts remained as black and orange as ever.

Kokoro stood, perspiration all over her soft skin.

"I can't . . ." She murmured.

Christie still heard her.

Lowering the aim, she fired a shot into Kokoro's leg. The young lady crumpled to the floor with a squawk.

It felt like a brick scraped through her ACL.

"Yes you can." She scolded her with a sardonic, correcting manner.

"Geh- I don't know! She was supposed to be in her office but she wasn't there when I went to go look." Her rushed words earned more 'encouragement.'

Another shot pierced her clutched hand and splintered into the hamstring in her leg.

Another scream.

"Ah, ah, ah. No lying." She said, almost a concerned mother.

"I don't know, I really don't know! You can check her office over there and you'll see!" Kokoro was earnest. Stressed out to the max.

Her eyes teared up.

"She's tellin you all we know, your chick never showed up!" Tina defiantly chimed in.  
A bullet to the shoulder fixed that problem.

"Urgh- Go look!" The pro yelled. Blood dripped through her clasped hand.

The buxom killer scrutinized them all suspiciously.

"Don't move." She asserted, motioning the pistol. The assassin went to investigate, keeping it trained on Zack the entire time, till she reached the next room.

The office was absolutely spotless. Every book was in order on the shelf. Each paper was neatly arranged in a disorganized pile, all actually within a clever order.  
Her couch was lustrous and tidy, tying together each piece of furniture in the cozy room.  
Even better still, the front was beholden to a perfect view of New York, behind twenty inches-or-so of bulletproof glass.

The bitch had every conceivable example of excellence at her fingertips.

And never had to work a day in her life.

By contrast, Christie came from a poor household, with abusive parents. The father was physical, a real cockney asshole.  
The mother, on the other hand, was psychologically abusive, most likely thanks to being perpetually jealous of her daughter.  
Their future assassin had perfect health and a natural beauty to her face, even that young.

It was fun to see it bruised.

Her fists tightened and she returned to the foyer, angrily pointing the gun at Kokoro's head.

"Where the fuck is this cunt!?" That word was so much less offensive across the pond.

"I told you- I told you! I- . . . She probably- She took her own elevator to the roof!" She exclaimed.

It was a half-truth. More like a guess.

"What!? Where is that!?" Christie grew outraged. The left side of her mouth twitched up and her fists tightened.

"Um-um . . . It's to the l-left of her desk I think. It's designed to blend in with the wall." The once-optimistic girl kept her wounds covered at all costs.

Christie rested the firearm by her hip and turned her head to peak inside the office again.  
She left the machine pistol behind after gunning down myriad more witnesses.  
Her fingerprints weren't on file. As far as anyone knew, her true identity was dead.  
If anyone checked for DNA, it'd come back without any conclusive results, unless they checked the registry of those who were also deceased.

Even then, it was an old picture.

No cops are _that_ smart.

Zack, meanwhile, had been stewing over the death of his ex-girlfriend. The bullshit of Jann Lee fell away. All that was left, the real root of it, was a girl he'd been fighting himself to respect.

He still had the hand wraps of his MMA days.

As the woman kept entering and exiting, he'd been meticulously covering his hands and wrists with the athletic medical tape he kept in his pocket.

Just in case.

With his feet already covered up to his shins and no proper footwear, Zack had ridiculously strong feet and well defined leg muscles.

He was rusty for sure but now was the moment, the culmination of all his anger.

This woman; this horrible, _horrible_ woman, would pay the ultimate price for taking Niki away.

He lunged forth and tackled her over.  
The two rolled and she kicked him off.

The man landed a few inches away but came roaring back. She brought the pistol up. It was surprising when he grasped ahold of the slide and shoved her off course.

The gun went off, sending a bullet out through the fat of his arm, but he would not budge.  
Applying enough force, he ripped the slide off, disassembling the gun.

She shoved her foot into his neck, kicking him onto his back, but he somersaulted to his knees.

She pulled the trigger in vain as the mechanism would no longer work.

Throwing the weapon aside, she bitterly pulled up her skirt and placed her knees in front of her chest.

She performed a kip-up, generating enough momentum to land on her feet while pulling her body off the ground.  
Her ruffled garment fell back down into place after she'd righted herself.

Zack tossed the slide away and shook out his fists into a Muay Thai stance, wrathfully closing his fingers into fists one at a time.

The woman slithered her arms like snakes, coldly staring at him, annoyed.

Zack ran forward, kicking off with his athletic, bronze legs into a forward charge.

He threw a haymaker that missed as she doubled down, then struck his cheek with a right aikido chop. She swept her left leg forward, tripping him and then bashed her fists into his back.

The serious momentum caused him to slide across the soaked carpet. While still sliding, he pushed off with hands, raising his body up and sliding his legs forward underneath him.  
Bending them to his torso, he forced himself back up. That might not have been a smart decision. He could feel some of the longevity in his legs evaporate.  
The carpet burn wasn't too great a feeling either.

In preparation, he thrust an elbow backward, forcing her to guard with her hand when he returned to the offensive.

Having twisted and advanced on her, he pushed back at Christie until she moved. Eventually, she managed to kick off his leg and placed a great distance between them.  
They resumed their stances and slowly moved back toward one another.

He kept jabbing at her with his left, though she'd tap them down with her right.

Whilst preoccupied with his offense, she continued to walk back. She suddenly remembered her surroundings, and became mindful of the giant hole in the floor.

He shot an elbow at her from above with his left arm, completely lateral. She countered with a right elbow vertically.

Their forearms collided and she punched him in his gut with her free hand. To her shock, it was like hitting a surfboard.

He rebounded instantly with an equal degree of force. Using his arm to shove her fist down, Zack sucker punched her lips with an eastern cross.

She hated any blow directed at her teeth. Something about the feeling made her spine shudder.  
Christie flipped her left arm up into a block; preventing another blow while she kicked in his left shin, forcing him onto that knee.

Attempting to hit him with her own, she sped her joint into action.

The man head-butted her leg back down with his brow, and subsequently redirected her arms up, opening her side to attack.

Another elbow came. She felt her whole body move with her pelvis, stumbling an entire two feet to the right.

She switched to judo. Grabbing him by his forearms, the assassin tore at his skin with her nails and latched on with a surprisingly powerful grip.  
Tugging him off the ground, she used the residual velocity from his attack to toss the man to her left side, out above the hole.

He took advantage and grabbed hold of her wrists in return. Using his momentum, he dropped harshly and swung over to the opposite direction.

She was dropped to her chest and felt her arms begin to bend unnaturally. Thankfully, she was still double-jointed.

He dragged on her by force, managing to yank her using his unforeseen upper-body strength.

She slid across and flipped out, landing in the next gap though he landed on that floor and kept hold of her this time. He thrashed her around, back onto the immediate, gory ground behind him.  
He kept flailing her around, moving and dragging her all along the place. Eventually forced onto her tiptoes, he kept her in an elongated pushup.

After a few seconds, he delivered a brutish knee to her chin and let go. Her entire jaw wired itself shut for a moment while she abruptly shot backwards, flipping circularly midair.

She landed awkward, a significant amount of strain fell on her neck as she almost completed the 180.

Christie was left hurting for a bit. Thankfully, none of her teeth had come loose. It was always the teeth with men. If not for her smile, she'd have gotten into so much trouble growing up.

At least then, she _could_ smile.

The assassin quickly felt reality return around her and lurched into a handstand, kicking Zack across the chest.

She flexed on her wrists, twisting and then kicked him again with a forward motion. The man was shoved backward but managed to place his arms around her calves.

She angrily jerked about, twitching her thighs for any way to escape, much like a captured dolphin.

He refused to let go, moving further and further backwards until he accidentally placed his left leg on nothing. Falling through, he once again pulled her with him,  
though she managed to somehow hold on to the edge.

"Stupid twat, let me go!" She yelled.

"Fuck you." He was content to let them both die.

She disagreed. Too much unresolved business. Below them were several feet worth of distance to the nearest ground.  
From this angle, there were actually a few inches of difference between the edges of the holes up above, but all the others below them were damn near perfectly aligned.  
If they dropped now, it'd be a straight shot to death.

Unfortunately, she slipped.

The two fell for a bit, only managing to survive thanks to Christie. Using the strength of her hips to swing them forward, they reached safety on the next floor down after her grip caved in.

He toppled ahead, getting banged up in the process while she stayed closer to the edge with only a minor bruise on her thigh.

Time was running out very quickly. The thought of Helena escaping ticked her off more than this idiot. So she stood up and readied herself for the jump, planning to catch the elevator across the way.  
It appeared in working condition from afar.

After taking a moment, she made the leap.

It was a unique feeling, the air that rushed by felt like mechanical cool aid, all perforated and no substance. These holes were like rectangles; a bit longer in the tooth.  
She just kept sailing on, wondering if she'd manage the impossible distance.

Just barely. Though it was shaky at best, she secured the landing.

Dashing her way towards the doors, her moment of wondering ended.

The Muay Thai artist mopped his head off the floor just in time. She would not get away. She would not live to see another happy moment.

He'd see to that.

Boldly lifting himself off the ground by his wiry arms, Zack bolted as fast as he could and easily reached the other side using his superior leg span. He made his journey continuous,  
stumbling only slightly from the landing, but forcing himself forward.

It turned out the elevator had been broken by something, the doors were open enough she was able to see an empty shaft with no cable in it.

Christie opted to take the stairway nearby instead.

He barged through the door after her, and saw her already halfway across the overhead stairs to his right.

As if it were a jungle gym, he hoisted himself up with semi-parkour, in the hopes he'd be able to make it in time.

It wasn't hard to catch up. She hadn't made it very far by the time he'd reached her. She caught him off guard, jumping on the railing and using it as a platform to reach the next level.  
He almost touched her ankle but missed.

So intent on arriving at the highest floor, that she had to make it to the roof, she repeated the move. Pushing off the cold railing, she outstretched her arms to the next level, three floors above where they entered.

She grabbed a hold but experienced a sudden tug at her left leg.

Zack had caught up.

He forced her back down, grappling her legs, then managing to physically tear her away. Adjusting to his grip, she bound her legs around his outstretched arm and pried his fingers away from his palm. The sudden pain in his shoulder combined with the weight of another person caused him to slip backwards.

Having placed him in an arm lock, they had yet to actually connect with the ground.

When it happened, she flinched. Her back suddenly throbbed.  
It was not unlike a dislocated rib, but she heard the actual fracture.

Nonetheless she maintained her hold on him, physically dominating his shoulder with her bare heel.

His eyes fogged up, and his shoulder close to popping out of the socket. The man noticed a nickel-sized bruise on her thigh.

'Let's make that bigger.' he though to himself.

He shifted toward her, taking his legs off the steps where they'd collapsed. Using what little room was left on that small, flat floor, he shoved his left knee as hard as he could.

The blunt force of it loosened her grip immediately. He flipped his hand down and roughly grabbed her jacket. Picking himself up on to his feet, he prepared.

Using all of his combined musculature, the man hurled the full-figured femme fatale off the ground and through the doorway.

She clung on to whatever she could, keeping herself wrapped around his arm somewhat. When she crashed against the door, the weight at least managed to carry him awkwardly down with her.

The top of Christie's head hit the wood door. She lost a bit of consciousness.  
Her world went black. All the color vanished.

The door was already broken through by something else earlier, leaving it an easy push-pull rather than having to use the now-broken-off handle.

They toppled together, back out into the original hallway, where the fight started. Niki's festering body and Akira's lifeless expression lay bare against their sight.

Kokoro sat bleeding out in her own hands, unable to move without upsetting her wounds.

Simply observing the consequences of her actions fueled Zack.

They'd separated in the fall.  
Light came back to her, but things looked a bit strange. It was like someone hit the reset button on her optic nerve.

Everything took a little while to boot-up. Whipping back at him, she scowled viciously.  
Helena had most likely gotten away from her by now, so she was content to make him suffer.

Using the wall as support, she stood to her feet and limped over to him. Blood dripped down from the red welt that had formed at the part in her hair.

She stomped on his bullet wound, grinding her heel into the raw mess.

His scream was gut-wrenching.

Zack flipped one of his legs around the back of her ankles, then used the other to kick her stomach.

She slammed down onto her upper-back when she stumbled back.

Tired and beaten up, both combatants stumbled to their feet, using any means necessary.

Unfocused, Zack threw a wild punch.

Christie slapped it down and swipe-kicked him in the side of the head.

He expelled a haggard breath.

Letting loose with a two-four combination of hooks, she hit two times with her right, once with her left, two more with both hands, and then a dynamic final right.  
The man fell on one knee and spat blood instinctively.

"Why? . . . Why are you doing this?" He asked, traumatized.

"Because you meddled. And that wasn't your place.  
You let my one chance at finally ending our feud slip away, so I'm going to take it out on you." She was cold, she was calculating, she was British.

A renewed surge of anger in him took hold.

She attempted a downward, sinistral swing at him.  
Zack shot back up with his own counter, an inverse dextral strike.  
The opposites collided with enough force to break wrists as the adrenaline buried the pain.

He stood, his sense of pride wounded but strong.

Christie struck his right cheek to no effect.

Then, she tried hitting his jaw with the left set of knuckles. She must have hit him 5 times in the face.

Each time, he swallowed the blows like nothing.

She threw out another right thump, but was shocked when he blocked with his forearm and countered with a devastating cross.

Her head wrenched back to the side and copper filled her mouth.  
Out of habit, she managed to attempt a second attack, but he blocked again, and twisted his arm around hers.

Locking her into position, he pummeled her with every body part he could; his free arm, his leg, and even his head.

He didn't stop until she was good and bloody.

She faltered but grabbed his shirt to keep balance.  
He let go of her arm and ripped away her other hand, fraying his top a bit.

She kept strong on her feet regardless.

He enacted a ruthless, machine-gun kick, battering away at her other leg with a vigorous fury, till it matched her other black-n'-blue limb.  
Then, Zack transitioned into a furious three-punch blitz, followed by an uppercut.

She was jostled around, losing her sense of direction, her vision blurring.

The man charged a powerful bash into her midrange that kicked up dust behind her. He wasn't done with this fantastic flurry.  
Launching the assassin off her feet with two rat-a-tat knees, Christie went further up in the air than he anticipated, leaving him time for a finisher.

A left-handed roundhouse kick should do.

Zack swung hard, pivoting around so swiftly he nearly lost his balance.

But luckily, this wasn't one of those days. His heel collided with her sternum and sent her flying through the air in a tailspin.

Down the hole.

He didn't even care that he'd snapped and ripped about a hundred or so muscles, or fractured his arms.

It was fucking _worth it_.

She didn't lose momentum soon enough. The blow carried her to safety on the floor below, crashing onto the lip and rolling forward a few feet.

His vision malfunctioned or he simply didn't register that she survived; Zack ultimately failed to realize her continuance and collapsed onto his back. He inhaled hard.

The victory was welled earned.

* * *

 **-Meanwhile- Downstairs**

* * *

The thought occurred to Ryu that this damn thing just wasn't going to die.

He tried cutting it, burning it, slashing it, smashing it and even pureeing it to death but the beast just kept on rising.

It reminded him of the legend of the Hydra, each time he cut the head off it grew two back in its place.

The blindness didn't help. The echolocation, while useful, had its fair share of flaws too.  
For instance, every time the creature roared, things would go haywire with his vision.  
There'd be multiple splotches and various different objects in the environment would suddenly lose there sharpness, becoming muddled since the sound was a bit too loud for him to concentrate.

It wasn't a skill he called upon often in spite of its many uses. He often sought his father's advice for use of a skill like this.  
Jo Hayabusa: he hadn't seen or talked to this man in several years now, he wondered why he thought of him only now. He'd probably already disowned Ryu for his actions.  
Would it even be worth going back to the village for his guidance?  
The town's folk probably thought of him as a monster, a cruel pied piper who led those around him to their deaths.

He couldn't come up with any argument that contradicted this thought, so he left it alone. Wallowing inside him was this self-hatred, caused by his great mistakes.

Ryu returned to the task at hand, and blocked an attack from one of the peripheral talons on its back. It was an attempted jab at his already pierced side, so he forced the dragon blade to his right.  
The insectoid limb scraped by on the edge of the blade, sparking as it went. The tension broke, allowing Ryu to direct the weapon upward, then swing down for a vicious slice and dice.  
The attack targeted a remaining weak point, the seam of the beast's arm. Every other part of it had adapted now, and it didn't even resemble Ayane anymore.

Save for those eyes.

The pink hair had fallen away to reveal a lizard-like pattern of protective spikes. They grew further and further out like quills but never receded.  
Those orange irises completely disregarded any sense of humanity, though they were, ironically, the only shreds of Ayane's appearance left.

He'd wondered what became of her. Hayate knew, wherever he was.

The demonic being towered above him an entire two feet now, as if his five foot, ten inches were little more than a school-child's height.

He had more in him despite the odds. As much as he'd injured this thing, he'd been equally just as cut up and banged around.

The clothing he wore was dampened by some of his blood, and flecks of acid ate at other, small parts of the coat. Several holes bulleted the design now.

Nevertheless, his precision was unparalleled, slicing the menace's limb clean off. It continued to move forward, completely lacking concern over its terminated appendage.  
Hayabusa acted quickly, hollering out with a swift sidekick.

He heard a crack as the monster stumbled with a few broken ribs. Well, at least he could still use Ki to concentrate on internal attacks.

A flick of the wrist and the other arm came free. A second later and it hit the ground.

Ryu spun the blade forward a few rotations in his right hand. It was smooth as he slowly readjusted his stance, holding the weapon forward, then creeping back into his usual pose.

The monster had anxiously prowled back from him. No matter the perk, no matter the next mutation, the ninja had an answer.  
A particularly lethal one anyway. He wanted to minimize the damage, he didn't know how many people were dead and he couldn't risk letting anymore be taken.

He decided a stab would be a good move.

The creature paused. Sweat surprisingly coated its scaly scalp. There wasn't a rhyme or reason to demon biology, they could be amphibian just as easily as elvish or alien, even corpse-like.

The ninja acted quickly, suppressing the pain in him and attacking with lightning quick speed.

Heart or brain; as long as the edge stabbed through either one of those he'd be satiated.

The sword got a few inches away from the monster's chest. It was a clone of Ayane after all, it had her agility, still intact in spite of the brutish transformation.  
It launched a sweeping kick from the left and moved equal to, if not faster than it's opponent.

Connecting with his hands, it shoved him into the wall. From that current vantage point, it then launched a powerful sideways-front-kick that shot him twenty-five feet backwards.

The lungs in his chest felt compressed while he went sailing. All that ground he covered, lost.

Ryu slammed down into the carpet hard, grinding further as he slid some. All that did was leave minor rug burns on the exposed portion of his arm though he was sure his skin had long-since reddened.

Meanwhile, breathing suddenly became the next hardest thing to do. Was it a foot or an anvil?

Anyway, he placed his sword into the ground and leveraged it for balance. Though the muscles in his legs were worn, Hayabusa somehow picked himself back up.  
At this point, he became aware of something that had dislodged itself in his torso.  
His senses were good enough: Upon investigating, he realized three ribs had fractured. About seven more had dislocated.

Or that's what it felt like, so to speak. Things were more uncertain these days. His control perfected his ability to ignore agony.

It took concentration of the highest order to not fall down or pass out while restraining the stinging ache.

A host of other injuries plagued him also, but he simply learned not to acknowledge it. He held his blade up in front of him.

The ninja began to consolidate the stamina across his every cell towards one point.

Focused, the two rushed one another, intent on finishing this bout. Ryu held his weapon to the side in anticipation.  
He knew that his only chance was decapitation and it would take every ounce of his strength.  
The enemy stayed comfortable within its fighting style mostly, there wasn't anything left that he wasn't expecting. Acidic blood, constant mutation,  
kick-based sneak attacks and regenerative injuries let the monster battle without fatigue.

Such patterns were easy to predict after some practice

The battle scorched up the hallways where he'd blasted fiery explosions and bursts of sweltering plasma. Most of the dead bodies had burned away, as almost every conceivable surface was blackened.

They were a foot apart now. He swung the Dragon Blade and hacked its underbelly, leaving a thick gash.

He prepared for a slice the other way, only higher. This was _it._

It abruptly spat up a projectile patch of blood. Somehow, the mutant forced itself to do so, spitting a fast mass of corrosive fluid as another new defense mechanism. He barely had time to react.  
The oversized batch missed his upper torso as he managed to jerk back instinctively, but his luck at evasion expired.

The acid splashed onto his left knee. Immediately, he felt a searing pain and heard sizzling. Smoke drifted up from the chemical reaction, interpreting itself as a haze in his echolocation.

Through the foggy film, a barrage of regenerated, razor sharp, arachnid pincers skewered him.

"AAAARRAGHA!" He bellowed involuntarily.  
Each one tore itself through a part of his anatomy, one through the top of his left shoulder, another two through his abdomen and the others through his torso and unharmed leg.

The Dragon Sword clanked to the ground, he grabbed at the merciless barbs, anguished. A spray of crimson spattered it's face as he spit up.  
Sticky globs of vital fluid slid out his lips on to the floor chaotically. Humungous, insectoid arms crunched themselves into existence, bursting from the being's torso covered in some sort of amniotic fluid. They were black and menacing, four-fingered and herculean. These would serve as good replacements for it's outdated predecessors.

The beast gripped its hands together around his head. He felt an unbearable pressure. His eyes were going to pop from his skull if the man didn't act quickly.

The impalement drew them close.

Good.

Now there was nothing that would allow this creature to walk away unscathed.

He shot both his thumbs up into its eyes, jade and vermillion danced against each other in the hellish hall's lighting.

After the orbs were annihilated, he jerked his hands back, then rammed his thumbs back into its ears. Its blood burned his fingers but he was past caring.  
Digging these two digits in, he subtly twisted them and wrangled its head.

What followed next was a spine-chilling screech unlike any known to man.

Even the masterful Hayabusa almost felt the intensity of such inhuman fervor, in spite of his ears resting safely behind several inches of armored bug meat.

Its grip loosed on his head and Ryu brutally removed his thumbs. Bringing his shaking palms up in a pose beside his head, he forced them together, cupped at his side.

In between his hands was the focal point, and a brief moment later, he flung them forward into its breast.

The monster was shoved back an inch and a powerful ring of sound discharged behind him.

A moment later, an overwhelming, bright blue light filled the confines of the hallway. Ryu pumped all the power he possessed into one, ultimate torn sky blast in a bid for disintegration.

The massive blast of electricity combined, with his soul-amplified, rocked the very ground beneath them, tearing a hole out through the building.  
It's head shot backward, all that life force flowing by, grasping at it, pulling on its very molecular structure.

It had never seen such euphoric energy. The plasma sheen brilliantly deconstructed, recombined and ceased to exist all at the same time.  
In the very fabric of the blast, it could see the seed of all things present in the universe, what made the darkness turn to light,  
why things had to die for others to live and the cyclical nature of the neutrinos that flowed through everyone and everything, all the time.

It was beautiful, it was horrifying, it was squalid, it was clean, it was everything ever all at once.

Its head burst open, slowly crumbling and wasting away, it's arms flailed away from the ninja's skull and struggled to hold in the rushing radiance.

They cracked and blistered open, sending viridescent trails all behind it into the sparking void.

The spider limbs on its back shattered, releasing their chunky contents before disintegrating them away as well.

The blast that emerged outside was blinding, like a solar flare. People were already running blind and scared, it didn't matter what they'd seen on television or any film.  
A flaming, nordic hammer dropping out of the sky above and the subsequent appearance of rapture-style light is enough to send even rational people into a panic, much less the religiously inclined.

A vortex of wind scourged around while his power travelled. When exploding forward, it destroyed every single obstacles in its way.  
An increasingly larger-sized hole tore its way through countless straight buildings before carrying on to the ocean.

In the dissonant storm, it found a home, contuining on and on through every major tempest and wave.

The mutant crumbled away, its cells eventually breaking up altogether and bursting out like helium in rapid fashion. The wave finally climaxed. It didn't take long.  
A few spectacular moments and the sight vanished, leaving behind a city-wide path of destruction.

It affected the weather, releasing an excessive degree of electricity into the clouds and creating such a gust of wind, a hurricane formed. All the water it dredged up form an intense vapor cloud.  
In a short moment, an-out-of-season super-storm coalesced from the explosion, and a brilliant flash temporarily blinded all who gazed upon the sea.

Ryu collapsed. The end of the barbs remained lodged in his body. So it goes with mortal based remnants.

He was left there ailing. There wasn't enough power left to cast an effective heal, so he used the last of his energy to close up some of his lesser wounds.

It was an effective way to stop the bleeding but his abdomen would not cease.

After everything he'd been through, to die like this would be knowingly the least hoorible, but . . . there wasn't any honor in it.  
He'd killed so many people, harmed so many families; he'd fought dinosaurs, killer clones of himself, other powerful demons and even a false god.  
And it was this . . . a clone of Ayane, for whose mutations there did not exist an explanation.

Maybe it was time to let it end. The suffering all those around him went through because of him, it probably numbered in the millions by now, was it really worth surviving?

What about all those people who probably went up in smoke in those buildings?

It was Thanksgiving, but there were probably a few thousand still.

A sudden wave of movement made his eyes flutter. They'd been unable to heal due to the lack of sufficient vitality. It was a much more complex process.

He realized the he'd heard a step and the mostly-silent hallway became filled with a luminous outline of a man. It was murky; there wasn't much to go on now that his KI was completely drained.  
From what he could tell, the figure was wearing a coat.  
He looked to be thirty, thirty-five, somewhere in that bracket. And his hair was . . . spiked.

"Impressive. I didn't expect you to actually live. Given _your_ track record, a demon like that should've killed you." The tone was stark and mechanical.

Vergil stepped forward with his sheathed katana in his hand. His dark blue coat was as regal as ever and his eyes were icy blue and direct, just like always.  
The creature had been one of his own machinations, a clever little idea.  
He felt it wise to not undermine the ninja's skill and so pulled out all the stops for him.

"Who are you?" His voice wasn't sturdy, but the man still put a certain degree of stoicism behind it.

"Oh, you don't know me, but I know you, Ryu Hayabusa." The phrase had a special flavor of grit behind it when uttered by the Devil Lord.

"Another one? . . . I'm busy." The ninja said in response, he was fed up with fighting for now.

"I can see that. I have a question for you." Walking forward he kneeled down beside the warrior, almost genuinely concerned.

Ryu was lying on his back grasping hold of the spikes embedded into his stomach.

"What?"

"What's it like to feel like a god?" The sinister man spoke cleanly yet overly harsh at the same time.

"Excuse me?"

He immediately discomforted Ryu.

"That little hex you put on yourself. You do know how it works, don't you?" He was bitingly sarcastic. Any attempt at humor would come across as so dry.

The ninja was silent, merely giving him a small look of defiance.

"I'll use small words for you. You cursed yourself to have a small portion of an old god's soul. Haven't you wondered how the process works? Are you even capable of understanding the feeling?  
It's _inside_ you, in the very marrow of your bones, _right now._ " He had a tendency to get real gravelly when speaking of things that interested him, such as old gods.

" . . . What do you want?"

"An age old question. That chunk inside you is from another dimension entirely, neither demonic nor hellish. You don't deserve that power . . . Give it to me!"

The devil plunged his hand into Ryu's chest. He felt a horrifying sensation. A part of him was being violated.

A moment later, a part of his being was ripped out. Somehow, Vergil had torn and severed the Divinity from him without injury. 'The Art of The True Wielder.'

Ryu felt the sense of strength and security he'd begun to fall back on leave him. All the injuries that hadn't healed grew unbearable.

He was vulnerable again.

The disembodied power floated gently in Vergil's hand. Violently crushing the thing between his pale fingers, it was absorbed into himself and he felt the same surge as what the ninja faced.

A carmine-accented aura rose around him before exploding into a pallid green.

Vergil was no stranger to strength like this.

He reigned the new addition under his control and suppressed any possible violent outburst. For the first time, a wicked smile creaked across his face.

Ryu became enraged, managing to speak through the pain, "At least help a blind man die."

He returned his attention to the floored fighter.

The smirk returned after this brief pause and he raised his right hand, outstretched.

After some time, the ninja felt a rush . . . but it wasn't death.

His depleted reserves became replenished. In time, his injuries fell away. Even the spikes appeared to dematerialize at some point.  
Finally, the light waves interpreted from his auditory function gave to a steady rise in black and white. Then the black and white gave to color. It was simplistic at first.  
A few very minor red hues, then some blues. After a while, the full spectrum began to return in a flood, opening up completely into pristine 20/20 vision.

The destroyed rods and cones regenerated back into place all the shades, and eventually, all his various maladies melted into an old reality.

"What!? How did- . . . !" He grunted and shot his eyelids open. Before him stood the man in black from Edgemere.

"You!? You've come back . . . Why are you doing this?" He asked, his voice unsure but returned to its signature deepness.

"That's something i won't spoil for you. You get to live for now. I specified your capture, not your execution. I require you still.  
The plan wasn't meant to include you in the initial phase but you've since made yourself inextricable. So, my friend, you get to live." Vergil knew the man wanted a sweet release.

He wasn't the type to grant a kindness.

The supernatural swordsman eyed Ryu's discarded katana. It was a powerful weapon, one that would assure security.  
He blinked his eyes and it was swept away into his grasp without needing to fetch the damn thing.

"This sword. Tell me more of the true power it holds." He was commanding. At this point, it was just toying to be cruel. He'd seen what the blade was capable of, he just didn't know how.

Ryu was flabbergasted. "That doesn't belong to you! You can't wield its power." He got to his feet.

It was weird to not have the same capabilities anymore. Kind of like a second heart giving out on itself. Everything was a lot more challenging now.  
Shoving his body forward, a healed vessel didn't mean a recuperated stamina. Exhaustion was still exhaustion.

His arms hung low now. They were limp like noodles. Felt it too.

He placed himself into a comfortable fighting stance but still ached in odd spots.

"I know of it's true form. The dragon sword is well respected but all of you keep its potential so limited. Perhaps it is time to pay the Hayabusa village a visit hm? I know one of those hapless fools might tell me the secret. Nonetheless, I can say this blade is more powerful than my own even in its current state. Such a feat." He said casually.

He reverse-gripped the Dragon Sword and stabbed it into the ground beside him.

He then removed the Yamato from its scabbard. Comparing the two, he made his mind up and tossed the blade to Ryu.

"Here. You can have this trinket. It's something I picked up along the way."

Catching the handle with his left hand, he observed something bizarre

The illusion of Vergil's weapon faded away, as did it's monstrous power, until it was left in it's previous form.

The Jinran-Maru.

He looked at his former friend's weapon incredulous. In what possible way could this total stranger have known that much about him that he could have tracked down those he was _once_ affiliated with? This made no sense; in fact it raised far more questions than it might have answered.

"What- . . !? What have you done!? Where is Hayate!? The village-" A torrent of outrage stirred within him.

"They're all where they should be." Vergil's answer terrified him.

His bones chilled to the core.

Resuming his smile, the cambion began to channel his power onto the blade, changing it's form until it too became the Yamato, all new and all powerful,  
built on the basis of the Dragon Sword's prowess instead.  
But where was the original Yamato? Without furthered explanation, he stepped back into the indigo aura he summoned around himself.

In a moment he was gone.

The shinobi crashed to his knees. They were shaking. He took pressure off them by letting his arms fall too. The Jinran-Maru fell to the side, it's black-cerulean hilt close by.

Things just got a lot worse.

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

These bottom notes will stay.

* * *

 **Update!:**

I want to clarify a few things. Firstly, the reveal of Vergil's sword actually being the Jinran-Maru is meant as part of a twist that'll come later.  
Second, I might change the genre to better reflect the intents of the work.  
I notice some mild confusion regarding the overall direction of the plot.

I like things ambiguous, what can i say?  
If it helps make any sense, i watched a lot of David Lynch films recently hehe

Anyway, i fixed a few things, errors, descriptions that weren't clear enough and some minor grammatical issues i noticed.  
One of the most notable issues i fixed was Tina. She just sorta disappeared between chapters ha ha. She's back now though.

I'll be busy still but keep an eye out for a One Shot story i'm writing right now.  
All i can say is that it's more violent and horror-oriented than this series and will be based upon the Heart of Darkness chapter, that whole 'when they were younger' timeline.  
Also, here's a plug for Devil's Dance. READ THAT PLEASE.

Additionally, i have plans for a prequel set after that other One-Shot which'll showcase how Dante evolves and transitions into who he is at the beginning of this series.

Thank you all!

* * *

Rest of the notes are in the Manifest. Reviews are appreciated.


	20. Karma Killer

**Author's Note**

* * *

.

 _When this was first published, I was seriously depressed, the following is an amended intro_

I've decided to embrace the darkness wholeheartedly here. I don't care anymore, be fickle about it if you want. It's meant to be that way, so deal with it.

Any references to drug abuse are from personal experience, the way it makes you feel and experience things.  
I've dealt with addiction myself, specifically heroin and others I won't mention, so the use of those themes here are a reflection of what I personally know of the human condition. It's a personal message of how dark things can get, because trust me, it gets skull-fuckingly bad.

A healthy dose of cynicism lies ahead, so you've been warned.

.

* * *

 **-Years Ago-**

* * *

A man in a simple black coat sat inside a bustling alleyway. He was quite the tall one, but so very damaged.  
It'd been some time since he'd seen that detective. He knew nothing would come of it. As he waited, seemingly for hours, a solitary thought rung in his mind.

It's getting colder, and he craved more.

He needed something to take away all thought, all pains. It drove through his veins like hypodermic needles.  
That was the weapon of choice for now, for it transmitted the signals he so desired. He locked it all in a place no one knew.

The wrong path lay out in front of him; his future once seemed to glisten brightly. Now it laid bare, all the suffering growing colder, his life becoming numb.

It was a nightmare made flesh; made human flesh.

A world that cannibalizes itself. So stupid. No one was coming home tonight.

Kindness had faded away, replaced by scars that ran deep to his roots.

His gloves seemed to be made of stitched-together pieces. Whatever the man could find, he used.  
His brown boots were lazily tied to his feet and his pants were torn; jagged holes steadily growing.  
They were an indiscriminate grey-black.

Legs had been sprawled out, but traffic forced him to pull back a little. No one paid him attention, instead hurrying around or avoiding altogether. _Persona non grata._

This realm worked so funny, ignoring those in need for the sake of selfish demands.

'Not in my backyard,' they'd say.

Bull.

Dying peace in him and you, yet no one's going to get anywhere, not for now.

Beneath his coat was a simple shirt that had been darkened by grime. He sat there with his hood up, the line of sanity thin as it's thread.

Beside him was an empty syringe he'd discard on the ground, an elastic band loosely draped nearby.  
How low did one have to go to hit smack? A shattered family would do it. Vergil wasn't even around anymore; off burning somewhere in Gehenna.  
He didn't even know why he did it, the man just knew that as long as his blood felt like a waterfall, rushing a million miles an hour, then his head was perpetually clouded.

Cloudy was good.

Cloudy was what he needed right now.

It didn't last long like it did inside humans, giving him a great surge for about an hour before he needed another large dose.  
17 years old, and it was just a fuckin tragedy. Sitting alone in his head, locked in a place where no one could go.

And that stupid cop.

Who did he think he was, promising to help? He _didn't_ help, he just put him through the foster care system, like he needed that.

Life was pain, and Dante reveled in that for a while. It didn't feel so good anymore.

He laid there, unable to process how he was feeling.

It felt utterly destroying, what happened; _why_ it even happened . . . His mind; an empty shell that crumpled in on itself.  
It was like glass fucking shattered through his throat, the most simplest of tasks becoming an arduous, enraging command to complete.

Dante was strong, so much stronger than any person around him.

Yet he chose to run from that name, giving himself the pseudonym 'Tony Redgrave,' after his father's love of grim crime films.  
Human conventions fascinated Sparda, and he sought to feel closer to his father. Now more than ever, he longed for someone like that, a father.  
As a child he adored dad, though he wondered where he went.

Truth be told, he didn't know him all that well.

At this point in his life, there wasn't much left of him to tell, except a city that hated his guts.

So, Tony hated it back.

Getting up off the ground, youthful rage exploded from his eyes, an anger-filled cry to the heavens bellowed through these twisted buildings.  
Their overbuilt character swallowed him, and so his attempts at freedom from this construct failed.  
Darting to the street, he shoved down an old man. Bewildered, the cripple looked on this bastardly young boy in disgust.

"Watch where you're going!" He yelled.

" _Fuck_ you!" He screamed back, putting his fist through the blue metal of a mailbox. The old man scuffled against the pavement, doing what he could to get out of there.

A cop car pulled around the corner, flashing its lights at him.

Soaked in red and blue, he held his middle finger up to them in a salute of anger.  
Ambling around incoherently as the officers approached him, they pulled over to the side, and attempted to take hold of the situation.

"'Scuse me sir, sir? Sir." The one said, a good 200 pounds heavier that Dante.

He was caucasian, covered in hair and the sickening odor of pure sugar.  
The young slayer could smell the donuts on him.

Dante kept walking on, unhindered by the two zealots.

The white police officer looked to his latin partner, and they agreed.

Heading around him, they placed themselves together side by side, forming a black wall of authority.

"What is this? Get outta my way."

"Sir, you flashed an obscenity towards us in a public forum. We're gonna need to check your eyes." The caucasian told him.

They suspected he was high on something. He looked like a street rat, it was plausible despite him being white.

Holding up a flashlight, Dante backed away, propping his left hand up between them.

"Hey- whoa, get that thing away." He replied.

Bright light hurt.

"Sir, if you don't do as we say, we _will_ take you into custody." The hispanic officer said.

He stared at both men; this was clear and present judgement based on his appearance.

No, he wouldn't take it from em'. Who were they to tell him what to do? He was beyond them.  
Weaklings, they could go away right now. It wouldn't bother him any longer.

"You put that thing in my face, I _will_ break your teeth." He retorted to their demands.

"Ahehe, okay buddy we're goin' downtown." Spoke the overconfident donut fiend, moving forward to put the man in cuffs.

He got as far as a foot near, when his ribs met a fist. His chest broke apart, cracking in ways beyond comprehension.  
The spirit of the law crumbled inside him, it's red-white-and-blue blood gushing out of his lungs, impaled by ribs and arteries out of place.  
Despite his size, the white cop fell down, resembling a heaving gorilla with his meaty arms crouched in front.

His horrible wheezing filled the air.

Before the other could react, the young man shoved him off into the brick wall of a building.

He slumped unconscious, the mans back breaking open from the unmitigated impact.

The bricks stained red: A woman screamed nearby.

Dante stepped back as he held his left wrist, the hand covered in blood that wasn't his. If he hadn't killed them, he'd come close.

That wasn't good, he was forgetting his rules.

It wasn't good to keep those things away, he'd need them for the cruel road ahead.  
The future was bleak. Most everything he came across felt that way nowadays.

How'd he get here?

On the run from police; on the run from his past; on the run from the spectral foe.

They were so annoying, each little demonic entity that followed fueled a squelching anger inside his chest, burning for him to exterminate every last one.  
If he could help it, none would survive him. There was a creature worth fearing far more than the boogeyman: It's name was Dante.

His brother was gone now, no partner in crime anymore, not that he would have helped anyway.

Those thoughts were dark, just like his kin's had become.

Mother was gone, though her job seemed mostly over anyway.

Father . . . Well, father had been gone for quite some time now, he didn't remember how long. He had a vague memory of a grown man with light hair, somewhat similar to himself.

But that was about it. Eva always told him Sparda was a little like both of the boys. Funny and charming; regal and dark. A perfect mix of the two siblings.

He took off running; he ran and ran, miles and miles away.

No matter how far he got, the city wouldn't end.

Maybe he was looking for clues; answers, anything.

Maybe he was just a scared kid.

Honestly, he didn't really care.

There had to be a way to get out of here, a way to just leave all this misery behind.

And yet, all he came across were brilliantly-crafted concrete caverns, bustling with people who wouldn't give him the kind of emotion he needed.  
The postmodernist surface of the buildings made him mad with longing, a longing to see nature of some kind.  
There would be no greenery here, not since he was a mere child. The plants growing from between the cracks of the insidious constructs were hacked and cut away.

It was a dead city, devoid of life beyond people.

Sure, there was a park, but what good would that do for him? It was a false simulation of the wild, only allowed to grow because the corruption sought control.

Barring this point, he'd settle for anyone's company.  
In a place like this, crushing loneliness was his second best fiend.  
The young man just wanted someone to hold him.

He wanted someone to want him back at least.

Charismatic as he might be, Dante wasn't very skilled with ladies, at least not anymore.

There was one, once.

But now that dream is gone from him, locked in a place that no one goes. . .

He wanted to be lost, to be gone from this world. Whomever was the master of this reality, the generations of confusion created nothing but a hellish nightmare.  
That nightmare was his reality. No locked doors, no barred windows; nothing to hide his scarred brain from the masses.  
And here he was, on the road again. Pretending that it didn't bother him was truly pointless. He just wanted to explode. Widowed.

The lovers of porphyria kept him tied, as they thought it made him well.

They were wrong.

Those infernal orderlies: An asylum was not the 'mandated care' he required.  
They fed him pills, as if that would solve his 'visions of demons.'  
They gave him a straight jacket, like it could truly hold the monster that he was.  
They kept him locked up in a cage, told him where to go to bed; believing that would actually make them go away somehow. Nothing is real but pain now.

That demon-infested building deserved to burn to the ground, and he was glad to do it.

One fortunate thing he managed to do was let the other patients escape, though they were screwed to begin with.  
It was one of those old-timey, over-crowded psychiatric hospitals that should've been destroyed years and years ago.  
Stuck inside his mind like a third degree burn, he couldn't let it go: Any of it.

In all that running, he felt the city grow hollow and devoid of aim.

Even the restless sounds had ceased. He felt empty.

"Now the world is through with me; I'm in mourning for my humanity." He whispered aloud.

He stood atop an empty apartment complex, watching the sun beat down.

It was just a town now, seeming like a rundown, destroyed ghetto.

The only plants remaining were sick and dying, looking more like cancer patients than nature.  
Withering did no one any good. Rage. . . Rage, against the dying of the light.

There were people crying, others using narcotics of choice, people having sexual affairs in secluded areas, lives breaking into tiny pieces.  
These talking monkey's act so silly, blind to the fact that the ones they hurt were you and me. Still, life pumped in that he was forced to feel.  
The sights and smells all rammed into his head like a squad car.

He felt to scream, the contradictions just gave him a headache.

So many years of decaying but trying to live just piled on top of itself. This mess of death held no quarter for the innocent.

The ultimate sins taken shape, this life of deluge fear.

That was to be expected in a big city like this though.  
Industrial towns were hell-holes to the miserable majority, soul-sucking even.

Nevertheless, a despotic heaven to those lucky few.

Running through a diseased alley, he found the way out to a parking lot. It was a dump, littered with sleeping vagrants and drug addicts.

Almost like home, he supposed.

He was technically both those things, there wasn't much left over now.  
He had to get to 'home,' wherever that was now. Destitute methods rendered him less than able.  
'Home' was actually rather close by.

He'd been forced to shack up with a group of guys close in age.

They all lived in a crummy apartment, and he needed to take an industrial elevator to get up there. It was slow as hell, but he wasn't stopping.

The four guys had girlfriends, but only three of them had relationships.

The females didn't really like Tony.

He didn't care.

The man kept to himself and didn't bother them, wanting to get back into the apartment to load up on his stash. Living with a dealer made getting it a little easier.  
He got into the lobby, crashing through the double door entrance. Down the hallway he went, passing by roach infested pillars. In the 20s, this old place was really something.  
At the end of the corridor stood a freight elevator.

Redgrave stood there waiting, enraged.

The dumbwaiter took it's sweet fucking time, and he was in a rush. Some pain flooded his side, unexpectedly. He hadn't healed all the way from his fight with Vergil, he supposed.

Some lingering phantom pains plagued him continually.

Honestly, there wasn't a purpose to bother, he despised people right now.  
No one was fucking reliable, often dropping out of his life without a care.

Sometimes, Dante really did wish he was able to stomach putting a hole in someone's chest, feeling that it might make life easier.

No.

Hard times doesn't mean he should lose his principles. Perhaps he just needed a little sunlight to take away the darkness. On the whole, his general feeling was hopelessness.

No matter how hard Dante tried, he couldn't keep himself above ground. The depression, the loneliness always settled back in.  
It made him weak, left him open to dark thoughts. He didn't know what he was doing anymore, where he was going.

He gloomily thought to himself, one of these days he should just take Ivory and put the barrel in his mouth.

Hell, no one was here to tell him otherwise.

What good was his father's legacy if the family to support it was DOA? Life is torture, perhaps it wasn't worth that hassle anymore.  
The entire thing felt like a rigged game against him. Sweetness was a taste he couldn't feel anymore, gone insane from the pain that he surely knows.  
But the demons wouldn't let him die, not anymore.

Sometimes, he just needed to know if he was really still human in this quietly agonized existence.

Then there was the rut. He wanted this cyclical idiocy to stop.  
Sure, he was hooked on drugs himself, at least at _this_ point in his life, but it was for the purpose of taking the edge off his misery.  
Would it ever really stop? Would his hatred ever go away? He was still alive and ticking, but did he even deserve to be?

The doors finally opened.

No cop car in sight. Good.

He stepped inside and his mind fluttered out, wandering through a void of endless fear and paranoia.

Great, the withdrawal symptoms.

Those lasted just as long as they did in anyone else, he wasn't special there. It was something mental, intrinsically separate from his physical self.  
He wanted to make an expression of rage, he had to get it out of himself. The hell he felt, imprisoned from all sides. . . Poetic justice was a joke, there was no art to be found.

It took twenty five minutes to get to the apartment.

What a fucking joke.

Cynicism was a good friend now, it made his sarcasm cruel and vicious. Long ago was the happy-go-lucky Dante, for now he was a wretched, practically homeless adolescent.  
This little place was a rotting coffin, despite the supposed 'company.' Dead end friends, thats all they were. Fuck poetry, and fuck the common man.

All they could do was stare at him as all human feelings died.

Perhaps they echoed his anguished cries, or they didn't need him around. Not the best crowd to get involved in. All the things they said turned to ash in his ears.

The barriers of brain had a gentle collapse, and he started to trip out, like he was on acid almost.

A bad trip makes things so bad.

The reason he took the damn substance was to get a moment of euphoria out of a contemptible life, why did the drawbacks include losing his mental health?

But things didn't always have to be so horrible.

It had occurred to him sometime recently, that with abilities like this, he didn't _have_ to be restricted by society's idiotic conventions.  
The best medicine to a bad situation is desperation. Sometimes it generates the most creative thought. A spark of brilliance? Possibly . . . If only.  
People above others low on the spectrum tend to waste all others away, its the way the scale of power worked.

The slayer had power, and his brother often valued this concept more than anything.

Maybe Dante could get himself to a different city. Hell, a different state would suit him just fine.

Most importantly, this existential crisis was happening in an elevator. People could understand the need for relief, right?

It was winter anyway, the skies would be perennially grey for another two months. No sunshine here. The light continued to die within.

It started raining outside, he could feel it.  
The smells seeped into the walls of this old, grungy place.

In front of him, the doors finally opened.

Before him stood an organized, if dingy-looking home. It had been a pigsty prior to the women's arrival. They at least made the place smell nice, as well as clean.  
He appreciated the less-blemished environment as he walked along the carpeted floor. Well, more like padded rugs atop steel grates.  
Thats what happens when a factory gets turned into a shitty apartment complex. Or was it an old hotel? Maybe both, earthquakes and world wars tend to destroy that kind of information.

In his way were three other men, all dressed slovenly like him.

He exchanged angry gibes with each one as he made his way back to his room, engrossed in shooting up again.

The darkness within these halls was crippling, locking him into a space where no one could pray. And his room was empty.

Empty as it can get, considering that each compartment was separated by cubical-style walls.

They hung drape over the ceiling to close the gap; otherwise, you could look over and see exactly what someone was getting up to.  
They were Dante's idea, mostly because the other four were dicks. The silver-haired man mocked their every step, and outside, the dogs of doom howled evermore.  
Colossal rains filled the streets, an unanticipated flood. An evil deity must turn the wheels of despair, a world so cold couldn't be made from love.

Wallowing on his sterile bed, he noted that today, the women had done laundry, having stripped every man's bed. So, he could see every shameful, disgusting stain on his little mattress.

Some were his, most of 'em weren't.

Shame made him cruel.

On the whole, it was a terrible place, feeling more like a basement than a twelfth floor residence.

The windows that should have let in sunlight had been patched over with a black film, as the previous occupants used this place as a laser-tag court.  
All of them were too lazy to scrape it off, least of all Dante. He'd probably shatter the window if he tried.

He felt drowsy now, the call to sleep stronger than his flesh and blood.

Seven days without rest was impressive, but his soul ached for siesta.

The heater was broken, so the building remained frigid.

Perfect, no blankets either.

He removed his jacket temporarily, and flexed his fingers. The grueling pull in his stomach from a lack of food made things hurt more.

To his own ends, he grabbed a spoon. The plastic shine flaked away to reveal a dull grey. He took however much of the stuff he needed, scooping it out to get a full load.  
Once he'd ensured it was the proper amount, he flicked out a lighter from his pocket. It was a mandatory now, the habit was so bad.  
He rolled his thumb and flickered the light into existence. Holding it underneath the spoon, he let the substance above dissolve into a sugary-yellow fluid.

It slopped around as he shakily stirred it with the other end of the needle, taking care not to stab himself since he was holding the point.

After he ensured no crystals, he sucked the spoon dry, drawing every last drop up into that syringe.

Wrapping the band around his bicep tightly, he tapped the tied-off vein to make sure it was good.  
He had to remember if he'd used this one already today. Of course, he healed up from the stuff far faster than the lesser species, so he guessed it didn't matter.

It was good to go, so he plunged the thing in.

The puncture stung the surface, and the deep stab burned into his nerves like nothing else.

Did it always hurt this way? Every time.

He didn't have an explanation for why, but perhaps because he mentally viewed it as a weakness, he registered pain there.  
Maybe it was because he couldn't take the severe low he'd come to, so he imagined the torture to deal with his guilt.

Honestly, it had no wherewithal to even matter.

Then came the injection.

A simple push, and that molten tar surged through his veins, pushing into every nook and cranny as it swept through.  
Endorphins flooded his brain, the heartbeat slowed, and his skin lightened.

Rational thought left, leaving behind a temporary, half-hour shell of a man.

The back of his skull felt like it came away, releasing an onslaught of vibrant colors and ideas taking literal shape, as his blood bubbled up like a bath salt.  
Every little minute detail faded, and his senses blurred. The onslaught of all sounds and smells evaporated into nothing.  
He dulled in favor of his head lighting up. It brightened the room itself, making it look like a white contrast had been turned up on a camera.

And sooner or later, he was off to the races.

They say heroin dreams are fun, letting you go fly away on some weird shit you'd see in an acid trip, so long as you didn't lay on your back. Left side it was.

He enjoyed this dream, as it left him feeling like a dew drop in the ocean, a cascading flow of warm energy all around him.  
This paradise was nothing new, feeling familiar and welcoming. Perhaps he'd encounter something apart from the all-consuming hum of radiance.

The violet light and it's radial vibrations felt like he was being pulled into an intense vortex, representing the key of life.

But the paradise got tired of him.

It faded away, to blackness, as many things do.

No more was the lonely cloud. Now, he was surrounded by disparate feelings, his emotional turmoil rearing it's battered head.  
Now sleeps the crimson petal, the telling of beautiful, but untrue things was the aim of his ruinous hobby. Hopelessness as a concept was bleakly beautiful.

He woke up a few hours later, annoyingly recharged with complete clarity of this toilet world.

Next to him was a pile of sheets and blankets he'd been delegated.

Joy.

He spent the next ten minutes making the bed as he had an unexpected visitor. Looking at the clock, it read four-twenty-six in the morning, give or take.

Despite clarity, the symptoms of withdrawal set in yet again, his head beginning to feel as though it'd been crushed beneath an eighteen-wheeler.  
The truck must have also backed up over him, as he'd been unfortunate enough to have that actually happen, but it didn't hurt as bad as this.  
No, this pain was new, it was a strange visitor in this world that he despised.

A stomach churn and a burning sensation preceded a blackened, crimson outpouring of vomit.

It splattered the insides of a metal bucket Dante used for other purposes, and his fluids stained the floor.  
The smell was putrid, almost like a dumpster fire, but a rotted corpse was left inside.  
Sticking to his fingers, the substance was thick with stomach acid. He felt horrible, like someone forced a spiked auger down his intestine.

The room felt like hospice care, waiting for him to die.

Those curtains seemed as though they were funeral drapery.

Dante labored through the halls and stumbled towards the window frame. Ripping the window up off the sill, the slayer hurled the bucket out the side of the window.  
It crashed on an abandoned car some tweaked jerkwad was trying to sell to a young college drop-out.  
It splashed out of the crushed metal, and the liquid splashed over and drenched the two, leaving the reddened figures to shriek.

He closed the window instantly, not thinking so much about them as he trudged his way to the bathroom.

His legs wavered, and he collapsed to the ground.

More came, painting the bowl a sickly scarlet.

It felt awful, the more and more he tried to fight it, the more painful it felt.  
Each surge of dark red came with a raunchy headache, and the man found himself yelling through the exertion.

Five minutes went by, and he lost enough blood to lose consciousness.

Life, so it seemed, was fading away. It was drifting farther and farther from him. This was the end of his natural way.

Fear and addiction twisted his mind, smashed his dreams. . . It was his master, pulling every string attached as if he was some puppet. It wasn't right.

Tony's head hit the the rim of the seat, splitting open as he lay there on the floor.

And he laid there.

And laid there . . .

And laid there.

The world stopped for him as his vision faded to black, a humanity-sucking inertia pulled the man into the most depressing slumber.  
In this tattered land, he was alone, broken and scarred forever. He fed it once; now it was here to stay.  
Such was the nature of addiction, it's stygian fear coursing through the minds of the strong. Tearing it down wouldn't work.

His right fist tightened, and a fuming hatred emerged.

He was a hero among men. . . What was _he_ doing here?

A sudden spark of fury entered his chest. How could he let himself fall like this? His father had a legacy he'd left for him. He could choose to embrace his savage side, or-  
Dad was a knight, revered in countless legends. Not caring didn't work, and not taking action drove him insane. _That was it_ , if the demons would come after him, then he'd murder every last one.  
The sociopathic fun of old burnt itself out, replaced by a renewed sense of self.

Self.

Self. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * *

 **-Within the Present, Time Returns-**

* * *

Dante laid there within the industrial tube. As a prison, it was certainly barren.

It was just simply the way the metal box was handled by his captors, or the horrible fact that he knew what his fellow hostage had undergone that reminded him of those days.  
But for some reason, his head felt like it was pounding, and his abilities were strangely still sealed. What was it that had happened to himself on that roof?

It felt great, but it was disturbing.

Almost like he was becoming soulless for the price of power.

Though it was greater in scope than him, the events he'd become roped up with had become confusing. Out of pure chance, he'd been led on a path to demons? No, that's not right. . .

Someone planned all of that.

He didn't know how, nor why, he just suddenly had the feeling that someone had to have been manipulating everything before him, even his capture.  
But why? Who was it leading him on, controlling his every move by merely knowing how he would react? It couldn't be Vergil, he'd killed him . . . He was sure.

Was it someone else he knew? Perhaps.

It could have been some demon he'd wronged; plenty of those.

And yet, in the bleakest corners of his mind, the slayer couldn't really put his finger on who it would be. All doors were sealed, at least as far as he could tell.  
The demons he's faced have all so far been constructs. They'd been made from humans themselves as sacrifices, as true demons leave behind far greater power.  
Of course, not every death stroke is a clean cut. Sometimes it happened, sometimes nothing.

It was weird how this system worked, considering he was far from his former level. Even though there were rules to account for how these things happened, you couldn't truly rely on that information.

Even at this level of strength, he was considerably more rusty at his skill.

That had to be the reason for his shut down, he wasn't used to this yet.

He was surprised he was even half alive, given the molecular shredding his genes had been through. Of mice and men, he was a monster of gothic proportions.  
Derision was what he felt, like a caged animal as the bunker kept rattling through the air. The clock struck whatever time it was; now, he supposed.  
To be a rising star that only gleamed felt like burning out more than falling. His flame seemed so dim now, only coming to represent the failures of what he'd seen.

There was a lot of pain in this world, that much was certain.

He was awake now at least, this time much longer than last.

He could still hear her whimpering, left beaten and violated.

They would pay for that, one bloody punch at a time.

The aircraft ceased movement, bustling to a stop. All he heard was a stilted creaking afterward. Nothing could drown out Helena's quiet cries. His fists tightened, but the worst part of it was. . .  
He didn't know whether he had the strength to get them out of here. Would it even matter to her? She wasn't the first woman to be assaulted near him, he normally had an answer for those at fault.  
The silver walls kept him in a state of hopeless dread, his inability to move a muscle made Dante numb to what was around. The fire burned on inside him; however dark, it was still there.

He heard men enter.

The creeps handled her violently, he could easily ascertain that. Muffled screams made it impossible to ignore.  
His question was simple, did they have a true aim towards the two, or was it another manipulation of events?  
Once again, he questioned himself. . . Who could have the ability to force all these people and things to an exact design? Intimidation had to be a field-factor.

There wasn't much left of him to tell, not that what was left had anymore to give.

His day just kept getting worse, the more he thought about it.

Beneath him, he felt motion again.

So, they were moving him now. He wondered where? Contrary to popular belief, you can't really use anything in your environment to determine your location if one of your sense's is blocked.  
Latches activated, pinning his limbs in place as they sprung around his flesh. Experiencing a sudden panic, his chest beat up and down rapidly. The doors clicked, moved one centimeter, then 'exhaled.'

It was a mechanical sigh, a release of air and pressure.

The doors before him swung open, and his eyes were blinded briefly. The tube was so dark. Nevertheless, he adjusted relatively quickly, all things considered.  
In front of him lay a giant bronze hall, machinery lining the tables all around as he was greeted by a confidant, but shocked man.  
He took one step forward, a hood releasing backward to reveal his face.

Rig shook his head.

"You. . . Tsk, tsk, tsk, my friend. You're an evasive mother, you know that? Now there isn't a whore to protect you from me."

Dante's head still reeked of haze.

He couldn't get the fog to clear.

"Perhaps you'd prefer I test your mind. How long can you _really_ hold out mentally when you see this little blonde tootsie get ripped apart by machinery?" He asked the slayer.

The silver-haired man looked and saw her strapped to a metal table.  
The environment was sterile like a hospital, but less immutable. There was something sinister about it.

Rig leaned in.

"One tendon at a time, Dante."

"How do you know me?" The slayer responded.

"Oh, I've known about you for a while now. You're an insect, birthed from demonic royalty, that about right?"

So the man was smarter than he looked.  
Rig had that real meat-head attitude going on.  
It probably served him well to throw off others.  
Who'd suspect he was intelligent?

"I suppose so." He replied, "What about you?"

Rig smirked at the man, confident his poker face was unrivaled. There wasn't a thing this man could tell from him now, not even a detail.  
At least, he shouldn't have been able to. . . The slayer upset the man a bit.

"So, you like blondes? That assistant of yours might explain your fetish, though she's not the only one you galavant with."

"Excuse me?"

The executive twisted his head at his hostage.

Dante made an exaggerated sniff, breathing in hoarsely through his nose.

"Stacy, I believe. Maybe she's the reason you beat _and raped_ my friend."

The slayer's eyes grew dark, his scarlet stare becoming just as soul-sucking as his brother's.  
Rig took notice, he was a bit shocked at the resemblance, but Vergil had payed him another visit just to be sure.

"Oh, her? French bitch had it coming, I promise you. Do you even know why I've brought you here?"

He tried to keep the conversation on track.

"Can't say I do." Dante grumbled.

His captor laughed at him. In a preposterous situation like this, every moment counted. So it was important that Dante extracted every bit of useful info before he passed out again.  
He could feel it, the pull of slumber seeking him once more. The wounds on his spirit would take long to heal, as all astral things must.  
So many times he'd been destroyed by his enemy, he'd just bounced back. What made now so different? He set the question aside for the time being.

"Well, I guess I'll just keep you in suspense. Needless to say, your visit here will be long term."

"You think I'll crack in a place like this? I've been in every asylum you can think of, there's not one I haven't destroyed."  
The slayer retorted, chuckling tired.

Rig turned back at him.

"Oh, this isn't an asylum. This place is destiny. My destiny; and yours, as seen fit by your keeper. But you know what I most enjoy about this place?  
Fun doesn't seem to be something I ever consider when torture's involved. But, I'll admit . . . This _does_ put a smile on my face."

He pressed a button on a tablet some assistant handed him.

Dante felt something disturb the skin on his temples.

Two drills made their way into his skull, and bore into the carbon fillings.  
The sensation was unbearable, as if leeches were squirming under the surface of his skin.  
He moved for the first time, wrenching around as the device seemed to pierce his tolerance.  
His teeth tightened, the pressure growing further and further.

It kept getting more and more intense, the feeling intensifying until he could swear his head was being crushed by a shark in the water.  
He was circling the drain now, it hurt so bad. The insidious scalpels making artwork of his skull.

His eyes turned red, and he began to struggle further.  
The metal holds began to buckle, more and more of his strength wore itself in. Despite the damage, this pain made him summon anything he could muster, this brawn came from nowhere.  
The knives dug further, growing ever larger as his resistance mounted. The pain was impossible to describe now, his face becoming something beyond life.

In one movement, he shoved his chest out, and the steel restraints tore away.

The piercing instruments in his head tore themselves out past his hair, and though he was still kept attached to the prison, his head screamed forward.  
He bellowed in Rig's face, teeth razor sharp, and his eyes curdled the man's blood on the spot.  
In that moment, Dante's unrestrained nature peaked the surface, and the human was left horrified.

Stumbling backward, he pressed a button that electrified the devil's heart.  
The slayer crumpled back in his chair, his eyes restoring blue. The drills receded, leaving him.

He sat, an empty, glacial stare looking right through Rig's face.

What in the hell was that!?

His captor moved back into confidence.

"Dipped in holy water. What do you think? Pretty effective, don't you agree?"

'Oh, son of a . . .'  
The slayer thought to himself.

First the ninja, now _this_ cretin.

The man lifted his right hand, and grasped Dante by the chin. Holding his head up, he crushed his cheeks in together.

"We'll have plenty of time to discuss 'divine purpose' later. I have a world to master."

And with that, Rig waved his hand, and the tube closed back up.  
His cylindrical prison sealed him in the darkness again.

But, he'd grown used to this.

He'd lived in the dark for a long time, it felt old and tired. So it goes.  
Now, as time flew, he could only remain trapped, and waiting was all he could do. So that's what he did.

He waited for as long as he could stand, locked in a place where no one could reach.

Dante was a patient man, surprisingly.

But, no matter how long he waited, he always had that feeling with him that said, 'Hurry it up, will ya?'

His mind slipped into a deep subconscious, deeper than he'd ever fallen before. In the recesses of his mind, he began to fall fast. It was a rush, just like before, only . . .  
No, there was no ground to hit. Not a real one this time. He may have been imagining it, but here he was again.  
The frigid waters below with god-knows-what swimming around in it. Sculptures of old standing around, all dressed in gold and silver.

 ** _Helheim_**.

It was a place he'd not been to in years.

Or was he really here at all?

It was certainly dream-like, in a way he'd not experienced before. Yes, this was a dream. It felt different, the cold didn't sting as much, the icy ground not as numbing.  
His fingers felt warmer, and he could still _feel_ them. The cold here wasn't as severe, and the snow felt artificial.

Across from him, in the wading frost was a lone figure most familiar.

It stepped forward, a grin of malice painted upon his face.

Spiked silver hair and an old black coat, it had to be only one person.

"Greetings, brother. I've been waiting . . ."

* * *

 **To be continued**

* * *

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Author's Note

* * *

So I decided to rewrite this as it was a bit rough around the edges. If you want to know what my personal feelings on this chapter were initially, go read the manifest.

Here I'm going to give you an update.

So it's been a long while since anything new has come out. My personal situation has changed for the better and for the worse, and this has affected my output severely.  
First and foremost, click on my profile page to see my other work, and the stories I beta read for. They deserve some love too. Secondly, this is a chapter most didn't really get to see at first.  
The reason for this was the ill-conceived story manifest, which, while a good idea, mainly confused people because it was always the latest chapter and most people didn't care.  
So, in order to preserve continuity with the reviews for each chapter, and to ensure the latest chapter is always the first thing people get to see, the manifest has been moved to chapter 15 for now.  
I made this change to ensure that the manifest would still be apart of this story, but wouldn't domineer the main releases. When the series is complete i will take it's place as the epilogue.  
Also, let me explain the nature of hell in this universe I'm writing.

Gehenna is the proper name I've chosen to assign to hell, as in the hell dimension that demons reside in. It is attached to earth, and so the type of demons that invade it are from this dimension.  
Now, Helheim is not a typical hell dimension, and instead acts as a realm where human souls are trafficked for judgement. Think of it as being different dimensions for each race.  
I'm toying with the idea of adding more hell dimensions in the future, such as Shale or Yomi (the japanese world of darkness), but lets keep it simple for right now.

I'm currently in the process of rewriting chapter 12, which is a bit of a long involved task considering I have to remember all that I've changed so far. Additionally, work is very time consuming.  
You gotta pay the bills, right? Anyway, that's just to let you know what's going with me. I promise chapter 20 and 21 will come out some day, and the meandering plot points you're seeing in the background will come to the forefront. The plot _will make sense!_ It better damn well made sense or I've wasted all my time.

Anyway, I'm sorry for the consistent delays, and I know a lot of you are probably not happy that I keep updating without posting anything new.

Trust me, I'm making large changes right now. Have faith, it will come.

* * *

Alright, I've rambled enough.

I hope you enjoyed, those of you still left (I noticed a dip in favorites). Sad, but I suppose that the updates bring in new eyes.  
Anyway, reviews are appreciated, I'll see you all later.


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